


The Seasons of My Love

by margaerystark, rebeccavis



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-11-02 13:40:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 39,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10945650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margaerystark/pseuds/margaerystark, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebeccavis/pseuds/rebeccavis
Summary: Margaery finds her many lives inexplicably intertwined with that of a man she has never met. Though she doesn't know how or why, the gods seem to have chosen her for a purpose. She just has to find out what it is.





	1. Summer

_"I pity them."_

_"Why? Look at them. They’re young and strong, full of life and laughter. And lust, aye, more lust than they know what to do with. There will be many a bastard bred this night, I promise you. Why pity?"_

_"Because it will not last. Because they are the knights of **summer** , and winter is coming." _

* * *

The visions came when she was young, sending her into a frenzy. She would wake in a cold sweat, her breathing shallow as she ran to her parents’ bedchambers and climbed up next to her mother. She’d wrap her small arms around her as far as they would go, giving a sob against her breast.

“Did you have another nightmare, sweetling?” Alerie’s comforting voice would mutter, encircling her in a warm embrace.

“Yes, mother,” she’d whisper in reply. She was small, but she knew well enough not to plague her parents with the things she’d seen. They would wonder where she conjured up such dreadful images – fire, fighting, blood… the same man being pierced with arrows and stabbed over and over again while someone cried out for him to run.

‘ _Robb._ ’ His name was Robb. He was ingrained in her mind, and he was realer to her than some people she actually knew until she learned to ignore her dreams. Soon they only came once a month, and then once a year, and finally she very nearly forgot about the horrors that she had seen.

* * *

It was not until many years later that she would hear that very same name spoken outside of her dreams. She could no longer remember the very first time, but she could recall the emotions that it had stirred within her even as she made every effort to crush them with the turning cogs in her mind. ‘ _It is just a coincidence,’_ she told herself, ‘ _Many young men all over Westeros must have been named in King Robert’s honor.’_ His name was almost always accompanied by negatives: _the rebel Robb Stark, the traitor Robb Stark, the false king Robb Stark._ Privately she for some reason found it impossible to think of him that way, but while he and the Lannisters fought their battles, she knew she had to focus on keeping her family alive and well.

The initial plan had been to see if she was able to convince King Robert to forsake his wife, Cersei Lannister, and take her for a bride instead. When that had fallen through, she had instead been hastily wed to her family’s co-conspirator and the king’s brother Renly Baratheon, so that he could use the wealth and armies of the Reach to declare himself King. Margaery had been well aware that Renly’s affections lay elsewhere from the day of their marriage, although admittedly she had not foreseen the problems that would create when it came to producing an heir. Regardless, she soon had to adapt her plans again as Renly was suddenly killed and her family was forced to choose a new side.

In mere moons she was betrothed once more, this time to the king’s son. It was easy to coerce him into a marriage; her family was prosperous where other houses were suffering because of the war, and his previous wife-to-be was the daughter of a traitor.

 _Sansa Stark._ She was kissed by fire like her mother and older brother. Margaery had only met the former in person, but she remembered Robb’s hair from her dreams despite trying to shake those thoughts. ‘ _How can I know what a man who I have not even met looks like?’_

Sansa tended not to speak about her brother and Margaery tended not to ask, but she had found herself wanting to a few times. She had heard the tales, of course; they said that he took his power from the old gods, that he rode into battle on the back of a giant direwolf, that he could even become a wolf when he wanted. She did not know how much of that was even close to reality, but she did know that he had bested far more seasoned men than him in battle, and not a day went by when her goodmother-to-be did not lament the fact that he had taken Jaime Lannister prisoner. Though Margaery would never say so out loud, whatever Robb Stark was doing certainly seemed to be working for the moment.

“Sansa, forgive my curiosity,” Margaery spoke up one day when she was out walking with the girl whom she had quickly befriended. They were in the Red Keep’s godswood, which Margaery had noticed her younger companion tended to visit often. “Did your family raise you in the old ways or the new?”

“Both, my lady,” Sansa answered her after a slight hesitation, “Most follow the old ways in the North, but my mother believes in the Seven. He...Father even had a sept built specially for her in Winterfell.”

“That was very kind of him,” Margaery noted, giving her companion a small, encouraging smile, “Were it so painless for all ladies who are meant to take a husband… Did you know there is a weirwood in Highgarden? Three, actually. They grew in a way so that their roots and branches twisted, so they may as well be one. My family is not very pious, but I loved the godswood growing up.”

Sansa nodded her head, a smile of her own growing at the corners of her lips. “It’s beautiful in Winterfell as well. I wanted to follow in the footsteps of my lady mother and practice Southron customs, so I always gravitated towards the Seven. My older brother adopted my father’s beliefs, however.”

“So do you think it is true what they say?” Margaery questioned, “Does your brother have the strength of the old gods behind him?” Sansa’s gaze dropped to the ground at that, and though she opened her mouth a couple of times nothing came out. “You may speak freely with me, Sansa,” she assured her, reaching to link their arms, “All I desire is an end to this war and for there to be no more suffering.”

“I...I don’t know,” Sansa said finally, “All I do know is that even my lady mother believed that the old gods were protecting our family as well as the new.”

A sudden vision flashed before Margaery’s eyes - a direwolf chained in a stall, pacing, his breathing ragged and heavy. It was gone as soon as it came. She held a hand up to her head.

“My lady, are you alright?” Sansa queried, her voice full of alarm.

“I’m fine, Lady Sansa. There’s no need to fret over me.” Her tone was calm and collected, though she was feeling anything but.

That night, her nightmares returned.

* * *

In the weeks that followed, Margaery did everything she could to aid in her friend’s situation. She wanted Sansa to find at least some form of happiness, and she was certain her family would approve of the idea of marrying into the tradition that came with the Starks. She also thought, though she recognized somewhat irrationally, that perhaps her nightmares had reappeared precisely to tell her something was wrong, and that helping Sansa was the direction they were pointing her toward. She did, after all, seem to often dream of direwolves.

Her concerns for the young Stark girl turned out to be warranted. Her handmaiden awoke her early one morning to inform her of a ceremony taking place later in the day that she was meant to attend - the wedding of Lord Tyrion and Lady Sansa. As far as she knew, Sansa had no knowledge of the event.

‘ _How cruel,’_ she thought, _‘The Lannisters have given her no time to prepare herself for a betrothal, let alone a marriage... To a man twice her age and half her size.’_ She couldn’t fathom the idea of marrying someone without at least doing some research beforehand. Her wedding day was being meticulously and elaborately planned - not only because she was to marry a prince, but because it would allow her the opportunity to learn about Joffrey and earn his favor.

She had promised Willas and Highgarden to Sansa, and now she was to get neither. She’d be trapped as little more than a prisoner in the Red Keep for the rest of her living days. _‘We were fools to think the Lannisters would have let her go so easily.’_ All Margaery could do was watch as Sansa married a member of the family who had ruined her life in so many ways, and her only hope was that Tyrion would be decent to her.

As the night wore on, Margaery found herself growing increasingly light-headed despite the fact that she had consumed very little by way of wine. Her slight dizziness soon became a headache which threatened to overwhelm her and made it hard to even think straight. She did her best to keep up a smile as she danced with her betrothed at the wedding feast, wondering if it was the way he had acted with Sansa only moments ago that was making her feel sick to her stomach. She excused herself when the band began to play ‘The Rains of Castamere’; it was a dreadful and dreary song anyway, and all she wanted to do was retire to her bedroom to get some sleep in hopes that rest would do her good.

“Do you know what this song is about?”

She whipped her head around to see Cersei standing at the edge of the hall, a glass of wine in her hand. She had a feeling her goodmother-to-be had already had more than her fair share of drink during the feast.

“The great Lannister victory against House Reyne of Castamere,” Margaery answered, hoping it would be enough to appease Cersei, “Joffrey has shared the story with me. He’s very fond of it.”

“Yes, House Reyne. They were a very powerful family, very wealthy – the second wealthiest in Westeros. Aren't the Tyrells the second wealthiest family in Westeros now?" Margaery was not certain if the question was rhetorical or not, and frankly she was lacking the will to answer. “Did Joffrey tell you how the victory was won? Did he tell you that every man, woman and child in House Reyne was put to the sword?”

Margaery swallowed the lump in her throat, opening her mouth to reply, though Cersei did not let her.

“Now the rains weep o’er his halls... with not a soul to hear,” she recited, her expression somewhere between a grimace and a smirk.

Margaery heard the rhythmic beating of drums, though she was certain no one in the wedding band was playing such an instrument. Then came the sound of a wolf howling, a woman screaming…

“Pardon me, your grace, I am not feeling well,” she managed to get out before fleeing to her room.

The drumbeat was slow and sombre and deafening. It did not stop even amongst the screams, even amongst the bloodshed, even as Robb stood to his feet slowly with an arrow in his side, another in his leg and a third through his chest. Margaery heard a woman’s voice and then into her view came a face she recognized. Catelyn Stark had been so eloquent when they had met, but now she was reduced to shouting desperate, broken pleas at the top of her lungs while she held a knife to another man’s throat.

Margaery awoke in a cold sweat, her breathing labored as she sat up in bed. She realized she had been crying in her sleep, her cheeks damp with the tears she had shed. _‘Why am I having nightmares again? This one was particularly vivid.’_ She didn’t know if she could bear the thought of watching Robb die again.

The young man in her dreams was most definitely Robb Stark. She could not deny that fact any longer after recognizing Lady Catelyn as one of the subjects of her nightmare. She felt sick again when she realized the song that was playing as Robb was attacked was none other than ‘The Rains of Castamere.’

* * *

In the days that followed, Margaery did not see much of Sansa. The story she told herself was that Tyrion and his family likely did not want the girl to be seen colluding with the Tyrells and truthfully Sansa did seem to be around less often, although Margaery also did not seek her out. She was busy planning her own wedding, and there certainly was a great deal left to do as neither Joffrey nor Cersei seemed particularly interested in helping. Even as she told herself all of this, though, she could not escape the feeling of guilt that bubbled up within her, as she knew there was another reason she was deliberately avoiding Sansa to an extent. Her nightmares - if she could even call them that - were far easier to ignore when she didn’t see Robb Stark’s sister every day.

* * *

Four days before the wedding ceremony, she left her chambers, hoping to speak with her grandmother about seating arrangements for the feast. As soon as she stepped foot out the door, however, she heard a young woman sobbing and another trying to hushedly console her.

“Mira, these things happen in the midst of war. You can’t just expect everyone to drop all their weapons and make peace.”

“But the way they killed him was so horrible! Think about that happening to you or your family, Sera. They were _ambushed._ At a wedding! It was supposed to be a happy celebration.”

“Mira? Sera?” Margaery questioned, approaching the two women with a small, concerned frown, “What seems to be the matter?”

“I’m so sorry, my lady,” Mira said, wiping her tears away hastily, “I did not mean to disturb you. I only...gods, it’s just so awful...”

“What is?” Margaery pressed, gently yet firmly. She was concerned for her handmaiden, but she was also beginning to feel a creeping sense of something beyond that, something that was far more terrifying.

“The news from the Twins, my lady,” Sera began to explain, “They are saying that…”

“Lady Margaery, there you are!” Joffrey’s voice proclaimed, and Margaery turned to see him making his way down the hallway. He looked far too happy for her liking, though she made the smile on her face match his. “I’ve come to share the good news. My grandfather has finally brought this fight with Robb Stark to an end, and you’ll never believe how.”

Margaery felt her heart sink, though she did not let her fear show. “You must tell me, my love,” she remarked, hoping she sounded convincing.

“Murdered - at Lord Edmure and the Frey girls’ wedding!” Joffrey gave a laugh in delight. “They never even saw it coming! One minute they were enjoying feasting and dancing, and the next they were being attacked.”

Mira gave a muffled sob beside Margaery, and Joffrey shot her a glare. “What are you crying about, stupid girl? The Starks were our enemies, and now they’ve been wiped out. One less false king to worry about.”

“Please forgive her, Your Grace. She is...very young,” Margaery managed to get out, well aware that it wasn’t much of an explanation but finding herself unable to think of anything better. Her mind was foggy and she felt faint, her hand reaching out a hand for the nearest thing she could hold on to which turned out to be one of the wall sconces.

“I wish I’d been there,” Joffrey continued, apparently undeterred, “I hear it was quite a sight. Stark was shot at and then stabbed, and they say his pathetic mother died pleading for Lord Frey to spare him.”

Margaery had to remind herself to breathe, her head reeling with the information Joffrey had just provided her. ‘ _It can’t be true, it can’t,’_ she told herself, ‘ _This is just another nightmare.’_

“They even killed his wolf!” Joffrey went on, “I heard that they sewed its head to Stark’s body after he died.. What a laugh... This is a good omen for our wedding day, my lady.”

“A good omen,” Margaery repeated mindlessly out loud. ‘ _No_ ,’ she repeated over and over again in her head, ‘ _They were nightmares. They were just nightmares, they can’t have been omens…_ ’

“The soldiers were all disguised as guests and wearing chainmail under their clothes. Even the musicians, which probably marks the first time a musician was ever useful to anybody. Oh, and this is the best part,” Joffrey declared, “They used ‘The Rains of Castamere’ as the signal to begin the killing. Isn’t Grandfather brilliant?”

“Forgive me, are you well, my lady?” Sera spoke up, approaching Margaery, “You look rather pale.”

“I… I didn’t get much sleep last night,” Margaery lied, the words falling from her lips quicker than her brain could conjure them up. It was as if her mouth and her mind were disconnected. “If you’ll excuse me, your grace. I ought to go back to my quarters and get some rest. I want to feel as well as possible for our big day.”

She feigned another smile, giving the smallest of curtseys before walking briskly back to her room. She managed to shut the door behind her and lock it before practically falling to her knees as tears escaped her eyes. She wanted to scream, but she kept her mouth shut as her thoughts raced. None of it made any sense, at least not to her. She had never seen Robb Stark in person, never met his gaze, never exchanged a word with him, and yet every detail of his death she had learnt had felt as cold and painful as the cut of a knife. The tears that escaped her eyes were partly out of sympathy for Sansa, partly out of shock that somebody could die in such a horrible way, but they were also partly for _Robb_ , for the loss of a man she felt as though she somehow knew.

‘ _I saw it_ ,’ she said to herself, even though she could scarcely believe her own words, ‘ _I saw him die before it happened_.’

She tried to rationalize the thought, but it was impossible; there was no reasoning behind _visions._ She’d heard of magic, of dragons, of soothsayers and skinchangers, but she never allowed herself to believe in such things. She was starting to believe now.

She remembered what Sansa had said about her brother - about his loyalty to the old gods. Perhaps they could offer her some guidance; she could think of no one else to turn to.

 _‘Tomorrow,’_ she reasoned. The pain she felt now was almost unbearable. She couldn’t recall a time when she’d experienced such harrowing heartbreak - not even when her late husband had passed.

She forced herself to stand and then made her way over to her bed, reaching for a pillow to cling to as she curled up under the blankets and let herself cry.

* * *

Margaery’s wedding feast featured an homage both to Margaery’s late husband and the man whose death had somehow caused her even more grief. In true Joffrey fashion, it was not only grotesque but also particularly insulting to his own uncle Tyrion, who was forced to look on while two dwarfs dressed as caricatures of King Renly and King Robb mock jousted much to the groom’s amusement.

Joffrey’s bride, on the other hand, was not sure how she got through it, but she sat in dutiful silence and tried to move her gaze beyond what was happening, looking at it but not really seeing it. Her thoughts went to the godswood, which she had visited several times over the course of the past few days, and the sense of peace that filled her when she closed her eyes and just listened to the wind. She had heard that those who followed the old ways believed that was how the gods communicated, and sometimes she thought perhaps she could hear voices. She was still having nightmares, though they were different from the visions she’d received, more muddled and dreamlike in nature. Robb was in them, and oftentimes she found herself reaching and calling out to him, but he was unable to hear or see her, and he’d end up sinking into the cold, dark earth.

The announcement of the wedding pie’s arrival brought her back to the present. She was immensely relieved knowing that her husband’s idea of entertainment was over for the rest of the feast.

 _‘Don’t drink out of your chalice after the pie’s brought out.’_ She remembered her grandmother’s vague warning, unsure of what it meant. Perhaps she just wanted to make sure her granddaughter wasn’t incapacitated for the bedding ceremony. Still, Olenna seemed very serious about her orders, and Margaery had every intention of following them; the wise old woman had never steered her wrong.

Joffrey had been desperate to use his brand new sword, which he had named Widow’s Wail, but Margaery politely suggested to him that perhaps it was meant for more than cutting a pie. While Ser Ilyn Payne took out his own sword for the king to borrow, Margaery’s gaze went to the many guests in attendance of the lavish ceremony.

She first saw Sansa looking forlorn next to Tyrion and her heart sank. She had not done right by her friend, she knew that much, and she swore to herself that she would start making it right as soon as she had the opportunity. Her eyes then fell on her aunt Janna, who was sat almost at the foot of the third table on the left with her husband, Jon Fossoway. His hand kept coming to rest gently on her belly, where she was carrying their child, and the two of them would smile and feed each other and exchange kisses regularly. As she cut the pie with her husband, Margaery thought about her upcoming wedding night and the fact that if all went well she would soon be pregnant with Joffrey’s child. The very notion of Joffrey ever acting at all like her uncle Jon was laughable.

Margaery’s thoughts led to her missing some kind of altercation between Joffrey and his own uncle Tyrion, but when she did turn around she saw the wine being served and her husband reach for his chalice. He gulped his wine down enthusiastically, not seeming to care when some of it dribbled down his chin, then helped himself to some pie. The crust seemed to be particularly dry as  it made him cough loudly, flakes of food spraying through the air.

“Your Grace?” Margaery questioned, her brow slightly furrowed. Joffrey’s coughing, however, only seemed to grow worse, turning into a full-on fit and making him double over. His face began to turn red and then purple, and his chalice fell unceremoniously to the floor.

“Gods, he’s choking!” Margaery called out, then was abruptly pushed away as Cersei Lannister ran to her son’s side.

* * *

Several moons had passed since Joffrey’s death. Margaery had sobbed at the wedding as she watched her husband of only a few hours choke to death on poisoned wine. She cried knowing that her grandmother most likely had something to do with the plot, and she cried thinking about Robb’s death and how it had mirrored that of the young Baratheon’s. Granted, she was sure Joffrey was nothing like Robb in terms of demeanor, but he was only a boy, really, and his life had been taken from him unexpectedly on his own wedding day.

Tyrion Lannister had been charged for the crime, but she kept her mouth shut at his trial, not wishing to incarcerate any of her family members. She’d become good at that - keeping her mouth shut - especially around Cersei. Sansa had disappeared the same day as Joffrey’s murder, so she lost the only true friend she had in King’s Landing. Tommen was far easier to get along with than his brother, and all she had to do was gift him with a few kittens to earn his favor.

She was married to the young boy only two months after her previous wedding. She kissed him on the forehead at the ceremony and briefly danced with him at the feast, but there was no bedding, and whole affair was rather awkward and somber rather than celebratory.

It pained her to think that she would have to wait several years to have children, all while keeping her head down in the Red Keep and trying to influence Tommen to not heed his mother’s advice. Even before Renly, she’d dreamt of holding a baby in her arms, of loving and caring for a child as they grew. She believed that marrying whomever her family chose would be worth it as long as she got to be a mother. Sometimes in her dreams she was, and her child for some reason always seemed to have auburn hair.

* * *

“Lady Margaery. I thought I might find you here.”

Margaery turned around slowly, having recognized the voice as one she wasn’t particularly keen on hearing. The godswood was where she went for peace and quiet, and it was the one place where she felt as though she didn’t have to keep up appearances for anyone. The gods would always see her just as she was, and that was a welcome relief from her daily life. Now that Cersei Lannister had made her presence known, however, Margaery knew her smile had to return to her face.

“My lady,” she declared, “What a pleasant surprise.” She had by now grown used to the fact that Cersei did not address her as ‘Your Grace’, but she was well aware that she did so purposefully.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Cersei said, “You seemed very...preoccupied.”

“Not at all, my lady. I have said my prayers for the day and thanked the gods for my good health and Tommen’s.”

Cersei seemed to bristle whenever Margaery reminded her that she was married to her son. “Is the sept not good enough for you, my lady?” she queried, “Surely it would be more comfortable to kneel on cushions rather than rocks.”

“I like it here,” Margaery retorted, “The flowers and trees remind me of Highgarden. You must love the bay for that very reason; I’ve heard Lannisport has beaches that stretch on for miles.”

“The bay here hardly compares to Lannisport,” Cersei dismissed her, shaking her head slightly. An uneasy silence lingered in the air for a few moments before she spoke again. “I suppose I was under the mistaken impression that your parents had raised you more piously. You always seemed the very image of the Maiden,” she commented, “In any case, I thought I might tell you that the Most Devout seem to have chosen their new High Septon...or were _persuaded_ to, depending on who you ask. They are calling him the High Sparrow.”

Margaery nodded her head slowly, unsure why Cersei was sharing this information with her. It had little to no bearing on her life as it were. She and Tommen had already been married before a septon, and as long as she kept up appearances in praying to the Seven, she did not see any problems arising. “May the Crone grant him wisdom,” she offered politely. Cersei’s expression was inscrutable.

“Well, I’ll leave you to...whatever you have planned,” Cersei ventured, adding with a small smile which on anyone else would have betrayed a joke, “I only hope Tommen does not get lonely while you are _saying your prayers_.”

“You mean His Grace?” Margaery quipped, “He has plenty to keep himself occupied, I’m sure.”

Cersei raised her eyebrows slightly but said nothing more, turning on her heel and walking away.

 _‘Gods grant me strength,’_ Margaery prayed silently before she let out a soft sigh. The dowager queen would have to learn to make peace with the fact that her son was married and that she’d lost her title _someday._

She smoothed out her skirts as she stood to her feet, turning to see a few men carrying black shields emblazoned with a rainbow sword making their way through the godswood. They walked slowly and purposefully, though it took her a few moments to realize their purpose was to speak to her.

“Your Grace,” the one at the front addressed her, “I am Ser Theodan Wells of the Warrior’s Sons. We have been given instructions to escort you to the High Septon immediately.”

“The Warrior’s Sons?” Margaery questioned, “Forgive me, ser, but I am not familiar with…”

“We are knights sworn to defend the High Septon and the Faith, Your Grace,” Theodan interrupted, “As I said, the High Septon has requested your presence.”

Margaery thought back to her history lessons. The Faith had no military arm, she had always learnt - she was almost certain that one of the Targaryens had put a stop to that. She stood frozen to the spot, unsure of how to respond, until one of the men grabbed her by the arm.

“Unhand me! There’s no need to use force,” she protested, shaking her head in disbelief, “What is this about? Why does the High Septon need to see me?”

“I’m sure he will be happy to tell you once you meet with him,” Theodan replied calmly.

Margaery opened her mouth initially to protest again, but she realized there wasn’t really much she could do or say that would help her in her current situation. After shaking her head once more, she turned to look at Theodan. “Very well then,” she declared, keeping her voice as calm as his, “I’m sure His High Holiness will come to see that this is all a misunderstanding once I speak to him.”

She hoped she had sounded braver than she felt as she was led away from the godswood by the Warrior’s Sons, able only to wonder what lay in store for her when she reached the High Septon’s quarters.

* * *

Margaery never thought she would be where she was now. The High Septon had required her presence only to inform her that she was under arrest, accused of adultery. Appalled and distraught, she wasn’t sure what to do other than submit and hope that someone would let her defend herself. The Warrior’s Sons had escorted her to the cells beneath the Keep, and she was promptly locked up, left with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company.

This had to be Cersei's doing. Tommen was too young to know the meaning of 'adultery', let alone implicate her due to such an act. The former queen had never liked her, and Margaery believed her thinly veiled threats were only words up until the Red Wedding. She'd been sure to tread carefully, but it seemed that she was in danger no matter what she did.

With little else to do other than pace her cell, Margaery started trying to put together what evidence could possibly be presented against her in court. She did not think her behaviour could ever be called questionable: she didn’t really keep company with other men besides her brother on occasion, and the only outings she tended to make beyond going to the godswood were very public ones. She supposed perhaps it could be argued that being thrice wedded and never bedded had given her desires she needed to fulfill elsewhere, but she could not think of what _evidence_ they would be able to come up with.

It was as she was thinking this through that she heard the sound of footsteps, and she made her way over to the bars of her cell to peer through. Some small, irrational part of her thought that it perhaps might be someone coming to set her free, and when she caught sight of her grandmother Olenna she managed a small smile. Olenna’s face, however, told her that the elder woman was definitely not bringing good news.

“Grandmother…” Margaery started softly, but Olenna shook her head, indicating she should not speak.

“Hush, my dear, we have little time to waste,” the elderly woman remarked, “I have yet to write your father and mother and tell them of the news. They’ll not be best pleased to hear it, but perhaps they can appeal to the crown by reminding them that most of their food is supplied by the Reach.”

“King Tommen had nothing to do with this, am I wrong?” Margaery questioned, “I’m not sure we can make bargains with Cersei… How is it that she still holds such power over the court?”

“By pretending to hold none at all,” Olenna explained, “She is feigning complete innocence and acting shocked by your incarceration, but she was the one who armed the Faith once more and she is the one feeding lies to the High Septon behind the scenes.”

“They are mounting a case against me, then? Have you been able to find anything out?”

“Some. Not much,” Olenna admitted, her mouth twisting slightly, “It seems that they’ve got Tommen to admit sometimes you disappear for portions of the day, and some poor servant to say they’ve seen you make frequent trips to the godswood. And then there’s one of your handmaidens…”

“One of my handmaidens?” Margaery repeated, her brow furrowing, “What is she saying, grandmother?”

“That you’ve been saying another man’s name in your sleep… Margaery, my dear, you don’t have to tell me everything, but it might be within your best interests to let me know-”

Margaery shook her head. “There’s been no one. I’ve never been bedded, I swear to you.”

Olenna’s mouth twisted slightly, but she nodded nonetheless. “Very well. I imagine they’ll want to have a septa examine you...not that it will be able to tell them anything. Horseback riding is far more likely to have taken any noblewoman’s maidenhead than a man.”

Margaery swallowed. “I have nothing to hide,” she reaffirmed, though even as she did she realized that wasn’t entirely true. She was certain the man’s name she’d said in her sleep was Robb’s, even if she was unsure why Sera or Mira had betrayed her. ‘ _Cersei could have threatened them. She’s good at that.’_

“This is just a misunderstanding,” Margaery assured her grandmother, “Once my innocence is proven, everything will go back to how it was before.”

“Let us hope so,” Olenna said, “I had best go before any Lannisters find me down here. Rest assured I will do everything I can to help your cause, my dear.”

“I know, Grandmother. Thank you so much for coming.”

Olenna reached through the bars to give one of Margaery’s hands a squeeze, and Margaery did her best to look brave. Her grandmother turned and made her way back down the corridor, leaving the young queen alone once more in her cell.

* * *

Waiting for a trial was more painful than Margaery imagined it would be. Her grandmother came back to visit her a few times, informing her that Cersei was doing everything within her power to delay the High Septon. “You’d think they’d prioritize a trial involving the _queen_ , but the whole lot of them are under the thumb of a madwoman,” Olenna had muttered under her breath.

Margaery felt an anger welling up inside her that she had not experienced before. She was angry at the Lannisters for throwing her in a cell and for giving her little to nothing to eat; her skin had gone gaunt in the dark, her hair matted and tangled, her figure slender and weak. She was angry at her family for making her marry a boy who had barely seen his ninth name day, for making her wait several years to bear the children she desperately desired. She was angry that she had lost her best friend, that she couldn’t stop dreaming about Robb Stark, that the gods saw fit to punish her for no reason. She felt as though she had always tried her best to do right by the people she cared about, and in the end it had gotten her nowhere.

‘ _Not_ **_all_ ** _the people you cared about_ ,’ a voice in her head said, and a wave of guilt washed over her. She knew she should have done more for Sansa Stark, but all she could do now was wonder where her dear friend was.

* * *

When the day of her trial finally came, Margaery found herself not knowing how to feel. Her grandmother assured her there would be people speaking in her defence and she fully planned on defending herself as well, but another part of her was exhausted. The cells of the Red Keep had slowly started to eat away at her strength, and the thought did briefly cross her mind that maybe it was no longer worth fighting.

She was grateful for even the slightest touch of the septa who led her out of her cell and towards the sept. It had been so long since she’d really touched another human being. She longed to hug Loras or plant a kiss on her grandmother’s cheek, but she knew none of that would be allowed until her trial was over. She wasn’t even granted the small mercy of a bath or a hair comb to make herself presentable. ‘ _Perhaps that is just as well,’_ she thought, ‘ _Perhaps my current state of being will garner some compassion.’_

Her suspicions were raised almost as soon as she set foot in the Great Sept of Baelor. She had already been unnerved on her way up the steps as her thoughts had gone to Eddard Stark, who had been beheaded under the watchful eye of Baelor the Blessed. Sansa had told her that had been Joffrey’s doing, but Cersei had been there as well - what Margaery found slightly strange was that this time Cersei was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Tommen, nor any other Lannister as far as she could tell. As she looked out into the crowd, she could only see the Faith Militant, her handmaidens, some of her other household staff, and her own family. Olenna was near the front and Loras was standing just behind her, his golden cloak of the Kingsguard swaying gently behind him.

Loras offered her the smallest of smiles which she returned. She missed him terribly; he hadn’t risked visiting her cell so that his place in the Kingsguard wouldn’t be compromised. She wanted to reach for him, but he was still far away. She was made to sit in a chair with her back facing him, her hands bound in chains. _‘The amount of precaution they took is laughable,’_ she noted to herself, ‘ _I’m barely strong enough to stand on my own, let alone fight anyone physically.’_

As if it hadn’t taken long enough to schedule, the trial also seemed to be taking rather a long time to get started. Margaery watched as various people came up to converse with the High Septon in hushed tones, and held back an impulse to tell them just to get on with it. She had waited for so long already in her cell and she wasn’t sure she had much patience to wait for longer.

“It’s His Grace and the Dowager Queen, isn’t it?” Margaery finally spoke up, quietly yet audibly, “They’re supposed to be here but they’re not.”

“My lady, please...”

“‘Your Grace,’” she corrected the High Septon, “Queen Margaery. I am a _queen_ , not a lady, and I expect to be treated as such, though you have done a poor job of doing so thus far.”

She saw her grandmother out of the corner of her eye giving a resolute nod of her head in agreement.

“We are all the same in the eyes of the Seven-”

“ _Enough,_ ” Margaery insisted, “I’m worried that we might be in danger. I think that it would be wise if we all left.”

“Left?” the High Septon echoed, “My lady, I don’t know what your intentions are but nobody can escape the justice of the gods.”

“ _Your Grace_ ,” Margaery corrected him yet again, “I am not seeking to escape anything. Believe me, I would much rather…” She cut herself off as she thought for a moment she felt the ground ripple beneath her. “We need to leave _now,_ ” she remarked, her voice wavering slightly. In her heart she _knew_ something was terribly wrong. She stood from her chair with strength she did not realize she still had, and the septon looked alarmed.

“Guards!” he called out, and a few of the Warrior’s Sons shuffled forward to block her path.

“Let me through!” Margaery demanded, but the men paid her no mind. She turned to look at the High Septon with defiance, and it was then that she felt another rumble beneath her feet. She wondered if everyone else had felt it too, only to have her question immediately answered when she saw the expression on the face of the man who was theoretically the most powerful in the entire Sept.

Margaery had never really imagined what her death might be like. There had always been more pressing matters - excelling in her lessons, learning how to charm and persuade, preparing to marry whoever her parents deemed worthy. She supposed if she had, she would have wanted it to at least have been quick and painless. The wildfire was far from painless, but it was quick. There was barely enough time to register what was happening before the entire Sept was engulfed in green flame, flesh was singed from bone and all the screams were silenced.


	2. Autumn

_“What was it Catelyn Stark had called them, that night at Bitterbridge? The knights of summer. And now it was_ **_autumn_ ** _and they were falling like leaves…”_

* * *

Dying was strange, but waking up was even stranger.

Even now she could remember being born amidst flashes of blinding, green light. It was as if she was a living legend - a dragon egg hatched out of fire... though she was no Targaryen. Instead she liked to think of herself as a wildflower, blooming after a devastating blaze scorched the earth.

She couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when she realized she was repeating the life she'd lived before, but there were times that stuck out distinctly in her mind. When she was five, her tutor decided to teach her about the king and queen. ‘ _Robert and Cersei_ ,’ she thought before the septa said their names, ‘ _Cersei killed her husband, and she killed me…_ ’ The elder woman glared at her, and for a moment Margaery feared she’d spoken her thoughts aloud.

“Who is that, Margaery?” she could recall her mother asking her when she was nine. She was practicing her drawing, and she had sketched a boy next to her of the same age with freckles and hair which she had colored a deep red.

“Robb,” Margaery had answered immediately, only for her mother to look confused. She quickly spoke up again. “Loras.”

“Oh, darling,” Alerie said gently, “We ought to find you the right color for his hair.”

In truth, Margaery had dug up madder in the garden to make the color for Robb's hair, carefully washing and snipping the roots, soaking them in water to create her own pigment.

"I think there's ochre... here, sweetling," Alerie remarked, holding up a dull yellow chalk for Margaery to use, "Or if you'd like something brighter, I'm sure your father would be happy to import saffron from Dorne."

“Thank you, Mother. I don’t want it to be too yellow,” Margaery admitted. The Lannisters all had yellow hair, she remembered, from Cersei all the way to little Tommen. ‘ _Poor Tommen_ ,’ she thought. He deserved better far better than to have the family he did.

As Margaery grew older, she became determined to ensure her family had nothing whatsoever to do with the Lannisters. Even if she hadn’t remembered pieces of her previous life, she would have known that her father in particular was determined for the Tyrell family to continue its rise which had begun in the age of Aegon Targaryen. Her goal was to find a match that would appease them, but at the same time ensure that she wouldn’t have to venture anywhere near King’s Landing if she could possibly avoid it.

Sometimes, in a fleeting moment, she wondered if her parents would ever consider betrothing her to Robb Stark. He was destined to be involved in a war, she knew, but she fantasized that maybe she could change that. She had no way of knowing for sure, but everything she did know about him told her that he was kind, and that was the one thing she hoped to have in a husband.

She never let herself think about it for too long. She’d considered many options, but the one that seemed the most plausible was marrying an influential lord within the Reach. When her uncle Paxter held a banquet at the Arbor and all houses sworn to Highgarden were invited to attend, she kept her eyes peeled for suitable match.

The Fossoways - both red and green-apple - had a few options of young men who were only a few years older than her, and the advantage there would be that Margaery would be able to ask her elder brother’s betrothed, Leonette, about them. It was precisely because Garlan was already planning on wedding a Fossoway, though, that she knew her family would never favor such a match. She was their only daughter, after all, and an opportunity that could not be laid to waste. She also had to disconsider any of the Hightowers, since they were all relatives of hers through her mother, and that also meant disconsidering several other families that the many Hightowers had married into. The Beesburys were a possibility and had a boy who was close to her age, as did the Mullendores and the Oakhearts. Margaery believed her best option, however, lay with House Tarly. Randyll Tarly was the greatest asset on her father’s army, said by many to be one of the best military commanders in Westeros. By all accounts he was not a particularly pleasant man, but his wife Melessa was said to be quite the opposite, and Margaery knew they had a son who had been born the same year she had.

“Loras?” Margaery said, giving her brother a small tug on the arm, “Do you happen to know who Lord Tarly’s son is? None of these boys look like Tarlys to me.” She then caught sight of one dark-haired boy who looked tall for his age, and her eyes narrowed. “Except maybe him...but he’s too young.”

“That _is_ Lord Tarly’s son,” Loras explained, “But I’m guessing you mean the older one… He’s probably hiding from our dear cousins Horas and Hobber. They’ve been tormenting him practically since he got here.”

Margaery frowned, glancing over at the twins that were sitting on a stone ledge just a small ways away. They looked to be chucking rocks into the bushes near the castle, laughing whenever they hit one.

“I’m going to have to give them a scolding,” Margaery announced to her brother, giving a giggle when he raised his eyebrows, “Don’t worry. They may be bigger than me, but they’re still afraid of me ever since I got them in trouble for the time they came to visit us and went sneaking out past bedtime to swim in the Mander.”

“All right. Let me know though if you want me to give them a scare,” Loras requested with a small smirk, “I might even get Garlan to help. He’d enjoy it.”

“I will,” Margaery assured him, smiling back as she gave a small nod. She then turned and made her way over to the two boys, both of whom took some time to notice her as they were almost in hysterics.

“Go on, try again!” Horas baited Hobber, “I bet you can’t get three in a row!”

“I bet I can!” Hobber retorted, whipping his arm back and tossing yet another rock. Margaery was quite baffled as to why throwing stones at shrubbery could be quite so entertaining, but it was then that she heard the bushes let out a loud “OW!”.

“Horas, Hobber!” Margaery called out, making the two boys jump, “Garlan and Loras told me they were looking for you. They want to play come-into-my-castle.”

“Oh, but that game is so boring!” Horas declared before Margaery shot him a glare and he immediately jumped down from the ledge. “Fine, we’ll go. Come on, Hobber. We can throw rocks later.”

Margaery shook her head as the two boys ran away, her attention turning towards the bushes which she now realized were hiding a boy. She assumed that he must be the older Tarly boy that Loras had mentioned, although she had to admit it was somewhat unexpected to find Lord Randyll’s son of all people being bullied.

“Are you all right?” she called out, approaching the pair of eyes she could see blinking behind the green, “Sorry about them. My grandmother likes to say they’re the reason cousins shouldn’t marry each other.”

The young man gave a small laugh before stepping out from the bushes, looking sheepish. He was rather plump and did not carry himself with much confidence, but his eyes were kind. “I’m all right… I just feel… silly being found hiding in a hedge. You must think me ridiculous.”

“Not at all,” Margaery protested, offering him a smile, “I understand wanting to get away from Horas and Hobber… But there are better places to hide, I assure you. Come on, I’ll show you.”

“Thank you. You’re very nice,” he said, smiling in return, “I’m Sam, by the way.”

“I’m Margaery Tyrell. Pleased to meet you, Sam.” She gave a small curtsy, and Sam took a few seconds before he looked flustered as he seemingly remembered he was also supposed to give a bow. “That’s my brother Loras over there,” Margaery continued, “He told me he and my other brother Garlan were going to make sure to give Horas and Hobber a little scare. Do you have any brothers, Sam?”

“Just one,” Sam answered, “And three sisters. They’re honestly more fun to play with than my brother.”

“That must be nice. I wish I had a sister,” Margaery mused as she led Sam away.

“It is nice,” Sam affirmed, following behind her, “Though my father doesn’t like it much when I play with them instead of Dickon.”

“I think it’s good that you play with your sisters. It’ll teach you to respect ladies and know how to treat them right.”

Sam smiled wider. “My mother told me that one of the best things I can do is to be kind and loving to my lady wife someday… I may not be as brave or as strong as my younger brother, but I can at least try to make others happy.”

“Your mother sounds lovely, and I think that’s a lovely sentiment,” Margaery said earnestly, feeling even happier with her decision to seek Sam Tarly out. Politically he was in a position that would make her family happy if they were to be betrothed, and the fact that personally he seemed kind as well was even more than she could have asked for. “Your lady wife will be very fortunate.”

“If I ever have one,” Sam remarked with a small scoff, “Father says no lady will ever be interested in someone like me.”

“You’re the heir to Horn Hill, and a gentleman besides that. Of course there will be ladies interested in you.”

Sam’s face flushed crimson at Margaery’s statement, but there was a grin on his face as he ducked his head in embarrassment.

“Here we are!” she remarked, pointing to the rows upon rows of grapes growing clustered together, “My brothers and I had a grand time playing monsters-and-maidens here when we were younger. It’s hard to find anyone among all of the vines.”

“It’s perfect,” Sam declared, raising his eyebrows as he then mused, “Wouldn’t it be great to have your own vineyard? I read a book once about the art of winemaking.”

“Perhaps when you grow older you can try to compete with the Redwynes,” Margaery suggested with a giggle, “What would you call your wine?”

“Melessa’s red,” Sam said almost immediately, his face then turning almost burgundy, “For my lady mother.”

Margaery grew slightly more serious with her next question, though she was sure to keep her tone soft. "Answer me honestly, Sam. Do you need to get away from your father?"

The young man looked slightly startled for a moment before his eyes met the ground and he gave a small nod.

"Come back to Highgarden with me," she suggested brightly, "I know we have only just met, but I'm certain we would be great friends. You can work as a squire for my father, and my brothers will never poke fun at you."

“Are you serious?” Sam questioned, his eyes having gone wide, “But you...your father is…”

“Warden of the South,” Margaery finished for him, “Your father would hardly be able to refuse such an offer from his liege lord.”

“I really don’t think your father would want me, my lady. I would be a terrible squire. I’m no good at fighting or...carrying things or any of it.”

Margaery thought for a moment. “You can be my oldest brother’s squire,” she said, smiling as the idea came together in her mind, “Oh, Willas would love it. He hurt his leg in a tourney when he was younger, you see, so he doesn’t really fight anymore...he breeds hawks, hounds and horses and he loves to read and look at the stars. You’d be perfectly suited to helping him.”

“That sounds… My lady, that sounds better than anything I could have dreamed up,” Sam admitted, his eyes shining with happiness, “Why are you being so kind to me?”

“Because you’re a good person, Sam, and I don’t like the way you’re treated from what I’ve seen. Just because you aren’t like other lords doesn’t mean you’re not worth anything.”

“Well, I think you’re one of the best people I’ve ever met. I don’t even know how to thank you, Margaery.”

Margaery shook her head with a smile. “We ought to go find my father. I don’t want your father to take you away before we get a chance to speak to him.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose you’re right,” Sam acknowledged, “I...aren’t you scared?”

“Of what? My father?” Margaery questioned, to which Sam gave a nod, “Trust me, where my father is concerned there’s very little to be scared about.”

Sam nodded his head and followed after Margaery again, only this time he kept up with her and did not stray behind, already seeming far more confident than when she’d first found him. She thought to herself that his life would be very different at Highgarden; perhaps eventually he would share with her exactly what had happened between him and his father, but she knew that it had to be bad enough for him to be so excited to leave his childhood home.

* * *

It had been five years since Margaery had initially proposed the idea of Samwell Tarly being fostered at Highgarden, and five years therefore since the two of them had become friends. Just as Margaery had predicted back then, the role of Willas’s squire fit Sam like a glove, and had allowed him to spend much of his time reading books as well as learning from the heir to Highgarden. Sam himself was heir to a castle as well, of course, and he had shared with Margaery that his father believed him unfit to rule someday in his place. Margaery had been horrified to hear the stories of Lord Tarly’s attempts to toughen up his son - from forcing him to sleep in chainmail to throwing him into Horn Hill's pond - but what filled her with happiness was that Sam had told her he was learning from Willas that there was more than one way to be the lord of a castle.

On Sam’s fifteenth nameday, Randyll came to visit his son. He seemed pleased with how the young man had grown; no longer did Sam cower in the presence of his father but held himself with dignity when they were reunited. Lord Tarly spoke with Lord Tyrell at the end of his visit, and it was on the day he departed that Margaery and Sam were betrothed.

The threat of war was looming on the horizon, and Margaery knew her father would wish to secure an army if the Reach had to fight. House Tarly’s men would support Highgarden through anything knowing that the future lord of Horn Hill resided there.

They were to be married within a month, and Margaery was pleased that Sam seemed happy enough to take her as a wife. There had been nothing but platonic love between the two of them in the years they had spent together, but she was grateful to be with someone who cared about her; memories of Joffrey haunted her far too often.

Something else that still haunted her were her dreams of Robb Stark. Many of them were terrifying and caused her to wake up in a cold sweat the middle of the night, which made her slightly concerned for the day when she and Sam would be sharing a bed. She saw Robb’s death, as she had done so many times before, and she could not understand why any more than she could understand why she still had memories from another life. Occasionally, though, her dreams were far from unpleasant. Occasionally, she would be walking by Robb’s side, sitting with his family at supper, smiling at him from across a crowded room. She had never known the feeling that those dreams gave her before, but thinking about them made her heart beat faster and heat rise in her cheeks. Those dreams were how she knew that her feelings for Sam were very different.

They were wed in the sept at Highgarden, which folk said rivaled only the Great Sept of Baelor in its beauty. Margaery didn’t like to think about that fact very often, and she got through her wedding by thinking of it as a performance. She shed her House Tyrell cloak and replaced with another green one, this time bearing a striding huntsman. Sam offered her an encouraging smile which she returned before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

The feast after the ceremony was a happy affair. All of the guests were glad to see them married and wished them a prosperous and healthy life together. Margaery felt somewhat nervous for the bedding and did not get to enjoy her food as much as she would have liked due to the twisting in her stomach. The prospect of being a mother soon was what kept her going; she imagined Sam would be a good father to any children they had, and they would grow up in the Reach just as she had.

When the guests were sufficiently drunk and everyone had danced to their full contentment, calls began for the bedding to take place and Margaery braced herself. She wondered who it was who had invented such an unfortunate custom, and why the guests seemed to enjoy it so much when many of them had endured the experience themselves as brides and grooms. Perhaps she might enjoy it as a guest someday, she mused, but she struggled to imagine how as the men attending the feast - many of which were friends and family - began escorting her to the bedchamber and stipping her of her clothes. At least her brothers were taking no part in this, and for that she was thankful.

It was over quickly, and she was practically shoved into her bedchamber, her arms folded over her breasts. The women seemed to be taking a little more time with Sam, and she could hear their giggles on the other side of the door. She crawled into the bed and drew the sheets up over her chest. She knew her husband would be anxious as well, so she thought it best if they made the process as easy and painless as possible.

She gave him a small smile when he entered the room, keeping her gaze on his eyes rather than anywhere else. He slowly made his way over to her and slid under the covers as well, though he kept his distance.

“Here, let me, erm… Just give me a moment,” he remarked, glancing downwards for a split second.

Margaery nodded her head in understanding, biting down on her bottom lip. She wasn’t sure if she should offer her help or not, but she thought it might be better if she stayed quiet and let Sam do what he needed.

“This is strange,” Sam spoke up suddenly in the middle of a long, uncomfortable silence. She wasn’t really sure if he was talking about his inability to stand to attention, as it were, or the entire situation. “I always thought...everyone makes all this sound easy,” he added.

“They do,” Margaery conceded, pressing her lips together for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she added, “Perhaps I’m not going about this quite the right way.”

“Don’t be sorry. It isn’t that you’re not...I mean, you must know that…” Sam did his best to explain, “I think every single man in the Reach is jealous that I’m marrying you.”

“But you’re not-”

“You’re like my sister, Margaery,” Sam interrupted, shaking his head, “I care about you deeply, but I can’t… I can’t see you in any other way.”

“If only you were Jaime Lannister, this wouldn’t be a problem,” Margaery jested, hoping to lighten the mood, though Sam’s face was still twisted in a frown.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a whisper, “I’m a failure.”

“No, you’re not. We’ll just have to try something different next time. Perhaps bring in another girl to help you out at first.”

“Margaery-”

“Don’t worry, Sam. We have plenty of time to make a baby. It may not happen tonight, but we will figure out a way together.”

“Everyone will be expecting…”

“We can make some sounds to satisfy them and stain the sheets ourselves in the morning. They’ll be none the wiser,” Margaery reassured Sam, giving him a smile and a small nod. She then let out a loud moan to demonstrate, just hoping she sounded convincing as a woman being bedded by her husband. “Oh, Sam!” she called out, only to have her husband turn to look at her.

“Yes?” Sam questioned before grimacing sheepishly, “Oh, right. Oh, _Margaery_ …” His tone was far from convincing, but Margaery expected anyone who was on the other side of the door was probably too drunk to care.

Once they thought the guests were satisfied with their performance, they changed into their smallclothes and got back into bed. Sam fell asleep before Margaery did, his snores punctuating the quiet night air. She had turned on her side and cuddled up to her pillow, willing away the tears she knew were coming. It was a trivial thing to be upset about not being desired, but even so, it hurt. She thought about how Renly never shot a second glance her way, how Joffrey only looked at her with lust as if she was his property, how Sam would always think of her as a sister. For a moment her aunt Janna and uncle Jon crossed her mind, and how both in this life and the last whenever she saw them they were looking at each other in a way that nobody had ever looked at her. Perhaps that simply wasn’t her destiny, she thought - although what her destiny was, she had no clue. The tears that had been threatening to fall from her eyes dripped onto the sheet below her, and she listened to the sound of the wind gently blowing outside.

That night she dreamt of Robb again. It was the same vision as always, and it pained her to think she had done nothing to try to stop it from happening. ‘ _It’s not your job to save the Starks. You just need to be a good wife and keep your head down. That’s how you survive,’_ she told herself. But when she awoke in a cold sweat and had to cover her mouth to keep from sobbing so that she wouldn’t wake Sam, she knew her dreams were impossible to ignore.

* * *

Margaery wished she could say that in the weeks following her wedding that her situation with Sam improved, but several moons passed and still she found little had changed. She had tried to introduce Sam to some of her trusted cousins and handmaidens in hopes that he might take a liking to one of them, but whenever she tried to bring up the idea of bringing another woman into their bedchamber he would change the subject. There was a part of her that did admire his honor, but it was matched by another part of her that was growing increasingly frustrated with the fact that her dear friend didn’t seem to understand _she_ would be the one blamed if they failed to produce an heir to Horn Hill very soon. In her darkest moments, usually when she was awake while her husband snored beside her, she wondered if perhaps Sam would be happy if he could set her aside and be free to marry someone else.

She was glad when his sister, Talla, came to visit them; she seemed to brighten Sam’s spirits and make him laugh. She thought that if he was in a good mood, he might be more willing to go along with her plans.

Talla was far more vocal than her brother and could not seem to stop talking about her recent betrothal to one of Walder Frey’s sons. It seemed odd that the Lord of the Crossing had made such an arrangement; Margaery hoped he wasn’t trying to seize the Reach’s armies for himself. Even stranger to her was that Lord Tarly would have accepted a marriage proposal from a house that was generally quite poorly regarded. She supposed the one asset the Freys did have to offer was aid in time of war, including a strategically placed castle and troops to command. It wasn’t until supper on the evening that Talla arrived, however, that Margaery finally pieced it all together.

“I’m eager to visit the Riverlands,” Talla commented as she broke off a piece of her bread, “I’ve heard the Twins are something to behold.”

“I’ve read as much in my books,” Sam noted, “I really hope you’ll enjoy living there, Talla.”

“Actually, Lord Frey promised us our own castle,” Talla explained, turning to her goodsister then, “I’m hoping you’ll be able to give me some advice, Margaery. I am not sure I feel quite prepared yet to run my own household.”

“Well, I do not really run my own household yet,” Margaery noted, but though her mouth spoke the words her mind was elsewhere. The Freys were arranging marriages and seemed as though they were planning to take over at least one castle in the Riverlands. Her thoughts inevitably went to places she had always tried to keep them away from, to King’s Landing and the conversations she’d overheard in the chambers and corridors. ‘ _He was promised to one of them, that’s what I heard. Clearly Lord Frey didn’t take it very well.’_ Robb Stark had been killed at his uncle’s wedding, a wedding that was supposed to have been his. ‘ _Stupid boy. Went and married some nothing girl from the Westerlands.’_

“Talla?” Margaery spoke up suddenly, “Do you know if there are to be any weddings at the Twins?”

“Well, before Olyvar and I are married, I believe Lord Edmure Tully is meant to be married to Olyvar’s sister Lady Roslin. I do not think it will be as grand of an affair as ours, but they are inviting the Starks, I believe. It’s silly, really, though I would never say that to my goodfather-to-be… Many people think that Lord Robb will win the war, but just because he’s won a few battles doesn’t mean he’ll take King’s Landing. I don’t know why Lord Frey offered his allegiance.”

Margaery’s breath caught in her throat. The attack was already planned. Robb would die soon if she did not intervene. “Talla, dear, do you know what day they’re meant to have this wedding?” she asked as calmly as possible.

“The fifteenth of Decembros, as I recall,” Talla answered, her brow furrowed, “Why do you wish to know?”

“Just… just curious,” Margaery lied, trying to feign a smile. ‘ _If I can get to him before the wedding… if I can intercept him on the way there, perhaps I can warn him,’_ she thought.

She knew she couldn’t really discuss what was preying on her mind with anyone, but she managed to broach it nonetheless that evening in hers and Sam’s bedchamber. Their ritual before bed was to spend a few hours reading by candlelight, something that Margaery always enjoyed or, at least, was certain she would have were she not concerned for the other things they ought to be doing as husband and wife.

“The hero in this story has quite the dilemma,” she mused to her husband, “He knows something terrible is going to happen and he might be able to stop it, but the person whose life is in danger is a complete stranger to him.”

“Really?” Sam questioned, “What are you reading, again? I don’t think I remember that from any of my books…”

“I picked something else up,” Margaery lied, placing her book gently beneath her hands so as to cover up the title. “I just wonder what I would do in such a situation. I do believe we should help people, even if they are strangers.”

“As long as you’re not putting your own life in danger, I don’t see why not. I think the hero in the story should do what he knows is right in his heart,” Sam said with a smile, “You’ll have to lend me that book when you’re finished. It sounds very interesting.”

“Of course,” she remarked before blowing out the candle beside her, “Goodnight, Sam.”

“Goodnight, Margaery,” he said in reply, none the wiser.

She waited until she could hear his snores and then carefully climbed out of bed, grabbing her cloak and scribbling a hasty note to her husband explaining that she had someone to help and would be back soon. It was vague, and she knew he would be worried about her, but there were far more pressing issues at the moment than Sam’s feelings.

* * *

The journey took her around two weeks, which was admittedly longer than she had anticipated. She stopped off at various inns and traded her horse along the way, though she tried to ride for as long as she could each time before settling down for the night. She was tired but mostly just thankful that she had enough coin to be able to sleep in a bed and get enough to eat along the way.  The days blurred somewhat in mind, and she feared at times that perhaps she would arrive at the Twins far too late. That thought only made her ride faster, determined that she would not let Robb Stark suffer the same fate he had once before.

When Margaery finally caught her first glimpse of the Twins, she was immediately filled with a sense of foreboding, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. She raced towards the castle in hopes that she would be able to meet the party of Northerners outside, not knowing what she’d say to Robb to convince him to leave. She did not have a plan for once, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her.

It was eerily quiet, and her heart sank as she realized there weren’t any guards standing watch outside. Had they already gone inside to start the attack? She tried to listen as she got closer and closer to the castle, but she knew it would be of no good. It would be near impossible to tell anything through the thick walls unless she was right outside the room itself, and at least there was little to prevent her from making her way into the courtyard.

She was so single-minded in her determination that she almost failed to notice a sight that she had seen once before only in her nightmares. An enormous wolf, larger than any she had ever seen, lay in the middle of her path, riddled with crossbow bolts and surrounded by blood. She felt tears flood her eyes, knowing somehow that the wolf was in fact a direwolf, that his name was Grey Wind and that he had been trying to save his master.

She wanted to stop, to close Grey Wind’s eyes and say a prayer to the gods, but there was no time. She had to find Robb; if she could just get to him before The Rains of Castamere would begin to play… they would run… he would be prepared to fight back.

She wasn’t sure if it was instinct or something else that led her towards the great hall, but she let her feet carry her where they wanted. She could hear music now - the steady beat of drums that seemed a thousand times slower than her heart, and then screams. They sounded just as they did in her nightmares.

‘ _No, no!’_ she thought, ‘ _I can still save him. There has to be a way to save him.’_

Margaery marched forwards and opened the doors to such chaos that nobody even noticed her arrival. Blood and entrails were spattered along various parts of the walls and there was a body at her feet which soon became two when another soldier was hit with a crossbow quarrel. She was too late, she knew that now, but perhaps she wasn’t too late to get Robb away from this place before they dealt the final blow. She desperately searched for him, hearing nothing but that horrible drum which seemed to drown out all the screams around her but one.

“LORD WALDER!”

Margaery knew whose voice it was immediately but she couldn’t turn to look at Catelyn Stark, not now. ‘ _Where are you, Robb?_ ’ she thought to herself desperately, and it was then that she remembered from her nightmares just how much his men had tried to protect him. One of them had flung a tabletop over him, she recalled, and sure enough when she scanned the room she saw there was only one table that was on its side, and a figure looked to have just finished crawling his way out from under it.

“Robb,” she breathed, her eyes filling with tears once more. He’d been pierced by arrows and seemed to be in shock, but he was still alive. She’d seen this all before, but it was worse to be there in the flesh, watching him struggle to stand as Catelyn begged him to leave. She heard something whiz by her and then felt a sudden pang shoot through her leg, and she let out a scream as she fell to her knees. Her lips trembled as she looked down to see an arrow in her thigh, but she fought through the pain, her gaze turning to Robb once more.

She yelled out his name in desperation, and for a moment their eyes met; she could see that he had lost all hope as he pulled himself up, grabbing hold of the table beside him.

She could do nothing but weep. She knew all too well how the next few seconds would play out. She willed herself to look away as she heard Robb’s last words - the words that had echoed in her mind so often in this life and her last. “Jeyne? Mother. Grey Wind…”

Jeyne. Catelyn. Grey Wind. One was dead, another would be in mere moments. ‘ _It should never have been this way_ ,’ Margaery thought. Robb was a boy, really, no older than her, and he deserved to love his wife and embrace his mother and run with his direwolf. She should have been the one to make sure that happened, she knew, but she had thought only of herself until it was too late.

Margaery barely felt the crossbow bolt that hit her square in the back of the head.


	3. Winter

_“Fear is for the_ **_winter_** _, when the snows fall a hundred feet deep and the ice wind comes howling out of the north. Fear is for the long night, when the sun hides its face for years at a time, and little children are born and live and die all in darkness while the direwolves grow gaunt and hungry, and the white walkers move through the woods.”_

* * *

Margaery awoke determined.

From the moment she started to remember snippets from her past lives, she began to plot. She _would_ get things right this time around. She and Robb would both live out happy lives. Sam would still come to Highgarden with her, but she’d be sure to introduce him to one of her cousins early on, one she knew he was fond of. She would marry Renly again, but she would convince him to make an alliance with his older brother and the King in the North - after all, being brother to the king was still a lofty position and far better than being dead. And Robb… sweet Robb would be able to start a family with Jeyne, the wife he’d named just before he died.

She grew up impatient. She struggled to understand why the people around her seemed to focus on such petty problems when so much was at stake, when war was not far behind and also not much further ahead. It became difficult to relate to many of the boys and girls her age but Margaery still desired their friendship, so she didn’t talk about the thoughts that were going around in her head. She smiled and laughed with others as if she didn’t have a care in the world, as if at night she wasn’t plagued by the same dreams that she’d had for over two lifetimes.

“You look so intense, sister,” Loras teased her gently from where he was stood by her and her husband’s side. Margaery frowned, needlessly smoothing out the wrinkles in the grey dress she had chosen after much deliberation. Despite their alliance with Stannis, very little had changed in comparison to her first life, and though she still loved her brother dearly as she always had she was still frustrated with him and even more so with his lover. Trying to convince Renly to make a baby with her was as difficult as it had been before, and she was starting to think sometime soon she might have to resort to drastic measures.

For the timebeing, however, none of that mattered. What did matter was that the armies of the North had been sighted from one of the towers of Storm’s End, and that meant that Robb Stark was on his way to meet them and Stannis at the castle. Today was to be of utmost importance as the three men would coordinate their battle plans, but it was important to Margaery for another reason. ‘ _You would look intense, too, Loras, if you were soon to meet the man you’d spent more than one life dreaming about_ ,’ she thought to herself.

It had not been easy to persuade Renly to join forces with his brother. The first thing she had to do was teach Loras not to put such unfeasible thoughts into his head, not to stroke his ego even further. There would be no secret scheme to marry her to Robert and try to manipulate the throne. There would be no Tyrell men, no Tyrell army to help Renly unless he supported Stannis’s claim to the crown.

Margaery was still wary of the she-devil that called herself Melisandre and her undying loyalty to the Lord of Light, but she thought that religion could be addressed at a later time - when the war was won. She did not care how victory was achieved, only that it was in their favor and that Robb ended up alive on the tail end of things.

Many men would laugh if they knew a mere girl of five and ten had pulled all the strings behind the scenes and had orchestrated an alliance between three of the most powerful lords in Westeros. Many would not believe her. She would never receive recognition for her deeds, but she did not care. She did not need acknowledgement or affirmation.

“The scout said he saw a giant wolf at the head of the troops,” Stannis commented, his face as expressionless as always, “I thought that was just a rumor.”

“You’re not afraid, are you, brother?” Renly teased with a raised eyebrow, “I’m sure Lady Melisandre will keep you safe.”

“I think the rumor is that Lord Robb can turn into a wolf,” Margaery spoke up quickly, hoping to distract the two brothers who were very prone to bickering, “Such a foolish notion.” She smiled and shook her head, although in reality she did not doubt that such a notion might be true. There was very little she doubted in this life.

She’d seen Grey Wind before, but when he appeared to her alive, he took her breath away. He was the first of Robb’s troops to make his way over the hill, gracefully slinking towards them. She had an urge to reach out and touch him, to run her fingers through his thick fur, but she stayed in her place as he stared at her, his yellow eyes piercing.

“Gods, it really is huge,” Renly remarked quietly, his tone a bit more serious, “I hope it’s not hungry.”

“I wonder if it’s wise to allow such a beast into a castle,” Loras added after nodding his head in agreement.

“It would be rude to deny a guest, I believe,” Margaery noted gently yet firmly. It was then that Grey Wind began to take a few steps towards them, and while Renly and Loras immediately recoiled she found herself wanting to reach out a hand.

“Don’t worry. He won’t bite,” a voice came from behind the direwolf, “Not unless I tell him to, that is.”

Margaery had heard that voice more times than she could count, but this time made her happier than all the others put together. No longer was it a voice screaming out in pain or struggling to speak - it was loud and as strong as the man who sat atop the stallion that appeared before them. The sun rarely shone in the Stormlands and so his hair looked closer to brown, but Margaery knew exactly the color it was and exactly who was getting down from his horse to speak with them.

“Lord Robb,” Renly addressed him with a smirk, “Are you putting on this show for our benefit?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Lord Renly.”

Margaery was glad to see that Robb was quick-witted and already seemed to know how to handle someone like her husband. She, on her part, could only stare as he stepped forward to shake hands with the other lords. He was significantly younger than the both of them but somehow managed to carry himself with confidence and courage that rivaled theirs.

When he’d finished greeting Stannis, Renly, and Loras, he stepped towards her, reaching for her hand. She felt her cheeks go hot as he gave her a smile which she was happy to return. She did not get to admire his features in her dreams; she was too concerned for his wellbeing, too haunted by the images she’d seen. But here in person she noticed the blue of his eyes, how his curls fell neatly over his forehead, how his brow was gentle yet strong. He was devastatingly handsome, and she found herself transfixed by his gaze.

“My wife, Lady Margaery of House Tyrell,” Renly announced.

“Lady Margaery,” Robb repeated, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he kept hold of her hand, “I don’t suppose there are any Tyrells in the North by any chance, are there? You look familiar to me, somehow.”

Margaery was certain she felt her heart skip a beat. Was it even possible that Robb remembered her face just as she remembered his? She tried to dismiss the notion as she shook her head at him. “Not to the best of my knowledge, my lord. I believe one of my aunts on my mother’s side may have married a Northerner, however.”

“That must be it. In any case, it’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady,” Robb said politely, his smile only broadening. He pressed the gentlest of kisses to the back of her hand, but to Margaery’s surprise it sent gooseflesh along her arm which she quickly folded beneath her other one.

“The pleasure is mine, my lord,” Margaery remarked, only glancing down when she felt something nudge her hand. Grey Wind had come to greet her as well, and she couldn’t help but grin as the great beast pressed his snout to her palm. She reached to scratch behind his ear, and he closed his eyes in contentment just as any other hound would.

Renly looked to be concealing his shock as he spoke up again, clearing his throat. “We have wine and meat pies in the castle, my lord,” he announced, “I’m sure you’d enjoy a respite after such a long journey.”

“Very much so,” Robb admitted, “Although I also don’t wish to delay our talks for too long.”

Margaery saw the slightest change in expression on Stannis’s face at that, and she was pleased that Robb had intuitively known just what to say to impress him. She then caught sight of a female figure coming up behind the new arrival and seeing her face also filled Margaery with happiness.

“My mother, Lady Catelyn,” Robb introduced her with a sense of pride that Margaery could not help but find endearing. She also could not help but be curious, however, as to why there seemed to be no Jeyne in sight. _A nothing girl from the Westerlands_ \- that was what Margaery had heard other people call her. Robb hadn’t been to the Westerlands, Margaery realized, and so he must still be promised to a Frey as he had been before.

As they all made their way towards the castle, she was taken aback as Robb fell in step with her instead of the other men.

“Grey Wind has taken an instant liking to you, my lady,” he noted, still wearing a smile, “That puts me at ease a bit. I think I have made the right decision in coming here.”

She was not sure why he was being so candid with her, but she welcomed his company and his words. “I would have to agree, my lord. This alliance is for the good of the seven kingdoms. I hope we can all find peace when this war is over.”

“As do I. Peace and justice for my father,” Robb agreed, giving her a small nod.

“Yes, of course. I am so sorry for your loss and for your mother’s. My lord husband only speaks well of your father - as does everyone who has met him, it seems.”

“Thank you. He was the best man I've ever known,” Robb admitted quietly with a sad smile. For the first time since his arrival, she felt as though she was catching a glimpse of the boy he was beneath the man he had to be in front of others.

She wanted to reach out and take his hand in hers and reassure him that everything would be all right, but she was a stranger to him despite her feeling that she had never known anyone more intimately. He was her sweet Robb, someone she’d drawn in pictures when she was a little girl, someone she loved and would do anything for, and she could not even touch him.

Instead she offered him a smile in return, studying the way his eyes danced over her as they walked through the doors of the castle. _‘He can’t possibly remember me,’_ she thought to herself, _‘Though why should I doubt it? I was the last thing he saw before he died in his life past.’_

“Lord Robb…” she started slowly, quietly, “Thank you for coming and for offering your help to my lord husband and goodbrother. I’m… I’m very glad you’re here.”

“There's no need to thank me, my lady. I'm very glad to be here,” Robb said in return. Grey Wind moved to walk by his other side, and Robb reached out to scratch his neck. “I’m also very glad to have met you,” he added with a warm smile.

Margaery felt her face flush. Being around Robb was such a different experience than any she had ever had before, and even her own reactions were taking her by surprise. “Your lady mother raised you very well, my lord,” she told him.

“Is my wife keeping you occupied, Lord Robb?” Renly spoke up suddenly and rather unwelcomely, “I knew she had a fondness for plants and animals but not wolves specifically.”

“Yes, my lord,” Robb replied, looking as if he’d just realized Renly was in the same room as them, “She is good company… You are a fortunate man.”

Margaery’s cheeks grew even hotter as she bit back a smile. “I’ve never met a direwolf before,” she remarked, shooting her husband a knowing look, “He’s gorgeous. Willas, my eldest brother, would be so excited to meet him. He breeds horses and hounds.”

“Really? I actually raised Grey Wind from when he was a pup...we found him with his brothers and sisters and a dead mother. We had to convince my father to let us keep them,” Robb explained, a hint of boyish excitement coming through in his voice, “How many brothers do you have?”

Perhaps it was due to Renly’s interruption, but Margaery felt suddenly far more acutely aware of the fact that she and Robb were immersed in conversation when he should probably be speaking to her husband and goodbrother. Nonetheless, she told herself it would be rude not to answer him, and she reasoned that their alliance could only benefit if she and Robb were friendly. “Three,” she said, “Willas, Garlan and Ser Loras who is just over there. He’s part of my lord husband’s guard.”

“I have three brothers as well,” Robb said in return, “And two sisters trapped in King’s Landing, as you may know. ”

‘ _One sister in King’s Landing,_ ’  Margaery thought, though she said nothing. It wouldn’t be helpful to tell him that when she herself had no idea where Robb’s younger sister was.

“I do wish to make getting Sansa and Arya back one of our priorities,” Robb told Margaery, “I hope your lord husband and Lord Stannis will agree to that.”

“I don’t see why they wouldn’t. Your sisters deserve to come home.”

‘ _Sansa deserves happiness. She deserves to get away from Cersei and Joffrey._ ’

Margaery was glad when they reached the dining hall so that she wouldn’t be the only person speaking with Robb. In truth she wished they could talk forever; she wanted to know everything about him. But she knew it wasn’t her place to discuss certain matters with Robb, nor did they have time for idle chatter. She took her usual seat next to her husband, and watched as Robb sat down together with his mother who had been politely conversing with Lady Selyse.

“I have been wondering where your guest of honor is, Lord Robb,” Renly said only for Robb to look confused, “The Kingslayer, I mean.”

“I have my best men guarding him,” Robb affirmed, “As you can imagine he's already tried to escape a couple of times.”

“He will make a good bargaining chip should we need him for that,” Stannis spoke for the first time in a while, his mouth drawn tightly. He was already ready to discuss battle tactics. Margaery wouldn’t be permitted to sit in on the formal meeting, however.

“Aye,” Robb replied simply, “If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I might have a meat pie or so before we start planning. I think better with a fully belly.”

“I second that,” Renly piped up, reaching to fill his plate.

Robb’s eyes met Margaery’s again, and he gave her a small smile from across the table. She was not sure how she was meant to eat now with a stomach full of butterflies.

Her attention was quickly diverted by the feeling of a small tug at her skirts, and when she glanced downwards she broke into a surprised smile. “Shireen! I didn’t even see you come in, sweet girl.”

“Sorry, Aunt Margaery,” Shireen said sheepishly, but Margaery shook her head and pulled her onto her lap. She thought one of the greatest improvements in this life from her previous ones was that she had been given a chance to meet Renly’s niece, and the two of them had become fast friends.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Margaery whispered, “Would you like some meat pie?”

“Well, hello there,” Robb spoke up from across the table with a grin, “I didn’t expect us to have such a distinguished guest.”

“Shireen, who let you come down here?” Stannis questioned with a scowl, adding to Robb, “Please excuse my daughter.”

Robb shook his head. “Little ones often do whatever they please. And I do not mind. My brother is around her age, so I am used to it.”

“Shireen, this is Lord Robb Stark,” Margaery said, introducing the young girl to the man sitting across from them, “He’s come to help your father just as Uncle Renly and I have.”

“Hello, Lord Robb,” Shireen said politely, “Nice to meet you. Thank you for helping my father and Uncle Renly and Aunt Margaery.”

“You’re most welcome, my lady,” Robb replied, “Meeting you only makes me even more reassured that I made the right choice. What is it that you’ve got there?”

“Oh, it’s just a book I’m reading,” Shireen explained, glancing downwards at the leather-bound volume in her arms, “Aunt Margaery gave it to me.”

“She loves to read. That’s something we have in common,” Margaery commented, once again realizing that she and Robb were engaged in conversation that did not include the majority of the other people seated with them… Only this time everyone else seemed to be staring at them. She subtly took a glance around the room; Lady Catelyn in particular was watching her closely. She took a bite of her meat pie just to shut herself up.

Margaery did her best to focus her attention on Shireen as their meal went on. She knew Stannis and Selyse were not particularly keen when she did that, either, but she thought it was better than letting herself get carried away speaking to Robb again. He did occasionally address her and her niece, and the way he spoke to the young girl made Margaery think that he would make a wonderful father someday. For her part, she knew she would have to ensure Stannis and Renly sent Robb to the Westerlands so he could meet his Jeyne.

“It is astonishing that Lord Robb managed to best Jaime Lannister in battle,” Margaery commented quietly to Renly when Robb was engaged in a separate conversation, “I do not envy anyone who has to face a Lannister army. I’ve heard they are quite formidable.”

“That’s an understatement,” Renly remarked, shaking his head slightly. Margaery only had to look at him to know she had planted a seed in his mind with her words, and she was hopeful it would germinate into the idea she wanted him to have.

Supper ended when Stannis suggested that Shireen go back to her room, and the ladies took that as their cue to leave as well. Margaery wished she could sit in on their conversation to make sure it would take the direction she wanted, but she just had to trust that she had done enough already to influence Renly’s decision.

She snuck one last glance over her shoulder on her way out of the hall, unable to help but smile to herself as Robb’s hair shone red in the candlelight. ‘ _Let Renly say the right words,’_ she prayed silently, ‘ _And let them steer Robb in Jeyne’s direction.’_

* * *

Even after leaving Robb’s presence, Margaery found it difficult to think of anything but him. Before their first meeting the thought had crossed her mind that it might not even be possible for him to live up to her idea of what he was, and yet she found the reality of him even better than that. He was clearly brave, clearly more than capable of dealing with men with far more experience than him, but more than a legend he was also clearly just a young man with fears, hopes and doubts of his own. It only made her all the more determined to ensure he had the life he deserved, and that he stayed far away as possible from the nightmares she had experienced in the past.

She experienced no such nightmares when she lay down for a nap a short while after supper. One of the things she didn’t like about Storm’s End was that it was a dreadfully dreary castle and there were few other women around, particularly any women who were interested in speaking to her. Lady Selyse and Lady Melisandre mostly kept to themselves, occasionally crossing her path in the corridors while they spoke in depth about the Lord of Light. Margaery was more than happy to be excluded from those conversations but she did wish she had someone of her age to talk to, and she often found herself with little to do and sleeping far more often than she ever did at home. This particular nap featured Robb, and after she had woken up the mere thought of it made her blush.

She decided to take a walk to clear her head, though even the godswood at Storm’s End was less than desirable. Stannis had burned down the one weirwood that had previously occupied the space outside as a sacrifice to the Lord of Light. She had almost laughed when she heard that. _‘The old gods don’t need a tree to communicate,’_ she thought to herself, ‘ _They’re everywhere - in the wind and the grass and the waves splashing along the shore.’_

She was startled when she saw another figure among the scorched trees and ashes until she concluded that it was Robb, and she spoke up to indicate her presence. “Lord Robb... I see we had the same idea.”

He turned his head to look at her, a smile growing on his lips once more. “You worship the old gods, my lady?” he queried, “I did not know the traditions of the First Men extended so far south.”

“We Tyrells are descendents of the First Men through the female line,” Margaery explained to him, “I was raised with a beautiful godswood containing three weirwoods.”

“And I thought the lonely weirwood in Winterfell was impressive,” Robb remarked, his smile never faltering, “Before this war I had only travelled once as a babe. I’m discovering now there’s so much to this world that I had never even imagined.”

“I’ve seen much of the south, but I have yet to see snow,” Margaery admitted, taking a few steps closer to her companion, “I think Winterfell sounds lovely.”

“I think so, but I’m rather biased,” he said before pausing and then adding, “Would you like to sit with me, Lady Margaery? I planned on staying out here for some time.”

Margaery nodded, and the two of them walked over to one of the stone benches that had survived the fire, taking a seat.

“Are you all right, my lady?” Robb asked, taking Margaery by surprise.

“Yes, my lord,” Margaery replied immediately with a smile, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. At times I think you seem to have the weight of the world on your shoulders,” Robb said, smiling at her in return.

‘ _If only you knew_ ,’ Margaery thought, but outwardly all she did was let out a small laugh.

Robb gave a chuckle as well, shaking his head. “Are you positive we haven’t met? Forgive me for being so blunt, my lady, but it feels as if I’ve known you far longer than a few hours.”

“I don’t know, perhaps we met in another lifetime,” Margaery said, causing Robb to laugh again.

“I suppose that’s it, then.” She could feel his furs brush the side of her arm, and she ached to take hold of his hand and close the distance between them. “I’ve always wondered what happens when our lifetimes are over...whether we come back or whether we simply become part of the world around us.”

“You shouldn’t wonder too much. You have so much life ahead of you to lead.”

“So do you,” Robb noted, “You’re the same age as me, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes, but I’m already wed. I know what the future holds for me,” Margaery explained. In truth, she hadn’t really stopped to think about what she might do once the war was over and Robb had gone back to Winterfell. Ideally she’d have children to raise, but Renly made that possibility seem slimmer by the day.

“My lady, you make it seem as though marriage is the end of all things…”

“Hopefully not for you,” Margaery said, “Hopefully you will find love, and it will be the beginning of many wonderful things for you.”

Robb nodded his head slowly. “My parents had an arranged marriage, but they grew to love each other dearly. It’s… most definitely a possibility. I will try my best to be a good husband, anyhow.”

“You will be a wonderful husband,” Margaery heard herself say before she even had a chance to think about it. Robb turned to meet her gaze and she felt heat creep up to her cheeks before deciding to quickly change the subject. “I...I hope your talks with my lord husband and Lord Stannis were fruitful.”

“Aye, very. I’m to lead the campaign in the Westerlands,” Robb told her, “My men will be pleased. I know many of them are eager to see some action.”

Margaery nodded, wondering why her relief that her plan had worked was tinged with a hint of sadness. “Not you, though?” she asked him.

“I take no pleasure in battle,” Robb admitted, “And, truthfully, I would not mind staying here a while longer...but I do not believe in leaving my men to die whilst sitting safe and sound back in a castle.”

“You are a good ruler,” Margaery murmured, tears unexpectedly springing forth in her eyes. It pained her to think about his life being lost before. He was genuinely kind-hearted and noble and saw the best in everyone, even when unwarranted. She did not know why the gods chose her to intervene on his behalf, but she was certain they had chosen him because he deserved life.

She dared to inch forward, finally taking his hands in her own. “Be safe, Lord Robb,” she told him, “I expect you to come back here in one piece.”

“Well, I’ll have to now, won’t I?” Robb replied, his voice quiet and his smile warm, “I’d hate for you to be upset with me.”

“I’m being serious,” Margaery affirmed, “Trust me, I know in my heart that only good things lie ahead of you.”

“I’m being serious as well. I have all the more reason to come back knowing that I’ll be able to see you again.”

Margaery’s mouth fell open slightly, but she banished any thoughts from her head that so much as implied that Robb felt as she did. ‘ _He’s only saying these things because he hasn’t met Jeyne yet,’_ she told herself. Besides that, they had only just met and Renly was her husband… Nothing could happen between them even if it was what she longed for.

“I should… It’s getting late, and my lord husband doesn’t know where I am,” she said in a hurry, “And you need to rest if you’re to be making yet another journey so soon. I’m sorry I kept you here so long.”

“Oh...no, don't be sorry. I apologize if I've kept _you_ ,” Robb said, and Margaery hated the way his face had fallen, “I’m sure your husband is missing you. Thank you for keeping me company.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Margaery said. She stood to her feet and curtsied politely, though she regretted such a formal gesture almost as soon as she had made it.

“You will come say goodbye, won't you?” Robb requested of her, “Before I leave, I mean.”

“Of course, if that’s what you’d like,” Margaery replied softly, feeling her heart beat faster as Robb stood as well.

Robb nodded. “It is... Goodnight, my lady.” He brought one of her hands up to his lips again to bestow a kiss on her knuckles - a kiss she wished would be planted on her own lips instead.

“Goodnight,” she practically whispered in return, not wanting to move from where she was stood but forcing herself to walk away anyhow, her head dizzy with desire.

* * *

It did not surprise Margaery that Robb and his men were ready to leave within a day or so. Time was of the essence, she was well aware, and nobody wanted to give Tywin Lannister any extra days to do any more planning if they could possibly avoid it. Margaery did her best to ensure that during that time she was only ever in Robb’s presence in the company of others, but even then she found it difficult to constantly ensure they didn’t get carried away with their conversations.

On the eve of his departure she felt as though she ought to be relieved, as at least she would no longer have to worry about overstepping any boundaries, but instead all she felt was sadness. What made matters worse was that Robb appeared to feel similarly if the look on his face as he approached her was any indication. He had already said his more formal goodbyes to Renly and Stannis and shared an embrace with his mother, but when it came to Margaery he gently beckoned for her to come stand with him by his horse.

“I’m so sorry, my lady,” he said gently, “I feel as though I may have upset you most recently and it certainly wasn’t my intention. Sometimes I...at times I say things that perhaps I shouldn’t.”

“No, Robb - Lord Robb, you have nothing to be sorry for,” Margaery assured him just as quietly, “You haven’t upset me… I’m just… Admittedly, I’m a bit upset that you’re leaving. I will miss our talks.”

“I wish I could stay as well,” he murmured, “But I have a duty to my men-”

“I know. And I have one to my lord husband.” She gave him a sad smile. When he would return to her, he would be married himself. ‘ _You’ll come to find your love, Robb,’_ she thought to herself, ‘ _You’ll grow old together, and eventually I will just be the girl you fancied once a long, long time ago.’_

Robb nodded. “I have something for you,” he told her, opening his fist to reveal a small, woven ring that looked to be made out of leather. When she looked closer, she saw an iron button threaded through the leather strings, a tiny direwolf sigil engraved in the stone. He sheepishly pulled back his cloak to reveal his jerkin where he’d made a cut at the bottom. “I didn’t have anything else to make it out of, but… I hope you like it nonetheless. I thought… Well, it’s so you don’t forget me, I suppose.”

It took all of Margaery’s self-resolve not to let tears spill from her eyes. It was a gift she shouldn’t accept, _couldn’t_ accept, and yet she found herself reaching to gently take the woven ring from his palm and threading it onto her finger. “I could never forget you, Robb,” she said softly, determined not to meet his eyes as she was certain it would break her, “Thank you so much. Please be safe. I will pray to the gods for you each and every day.”

She felt something soft nudge against her hand, and when she glanced downwards she saw it had been Grey Wind’s muzzle. She scratched him behind the ear, and then knelt to wrap her arms around him in an embrace. It was all she could do for now; it would have to suffice.

“I will be safe, I promise,” she heard Robb say, though she still didn’t look up. He climbed up onto his horse, and she let go of Grey Wind, standing slowly to her feet. She stole one last glance as he and his men began to ride away, for she was certain it would be the last of him she would see in a long while.

* * *

The men had gone to war, and all that there was left for most of the women to do was wait. Margaery had never experienced such circumstances before in any lifetime, and she found it didn’t take long for her to begin growing impatient. She almost envied women such as Lady Dacey Mormont and Lady Brienne of Tarth, for though they were risking their lives at least they were able to be part of shaping the future that lay in store for the Seven Kingdoms. Margaery was thankful, however, for the presence of Lady Catelyn in the castle. Robb’s mother had experienced this before - when she had been with child, no less - and she proved just the company Margaery needed to help her keep calm in the face of all that was happening.

She knew the older woman had to be aware of how fond she was of her son, but if she disapproved, she made no effort to show it. She was kind but firm in her words, and Margaery appreciated having another woman around who was not afraid to make her voice heard among men.

Everything changed when they received word from the Westerlands and Winterfell at practically the same time. The capital of the North had been attacked by Theon Greyjoy, and Robb had been injured at the Crag. Margaery was fret with worry, but knew the Crag was the ancestral seat of House Westerling… Perhaps her sweet Robb had found comfort in Jeyne while he healed there; she certainly hoped for such an outcome and prayed for his well-being at every opportunity. Catelyn was struck with grief over the loss of her youngest two sons and did not speak with Margaery much after the devastating news.

That night, however, Margaery dreamed, and she could feel Bran’s presence as if he was sharing the dream with her. He was alive and safe, and so was Rickon, but she did not know how to express this information to the Starks without sounding like a madwoman.

While they awaited news from the Westerlands, Margaery kept herself occupied by starting up a correspondence with Lord Walder Frey. It was not something she had been at all eager to do, particularly given her knowledge of what was capable of, but she knew it was important for the Lord of the Crossing to be on good terms with them when news reached him of the fact that Robb had forsaken his betrothal to a Frey girl. She used Lady Catelyn as an excuse, saying that she had heard much about him from her companion at Storm’s End, and she made sure to emphasize how well the war was going for the Baratheon-Stark alliance. They would win just as Lord Robert and Lord Eddard once had, she assured him, and she explained that his support was of utmost importance and would mean many prosperous marriages for his children and grandchildren. The words were nauseating to write, but they would at least keep Robb safe.

Finally they were informed that Robb was coming back to the Stormlands with his new wife. When Margaery saw Catelyn, she looked tired and worn, and she knew the other woman’s heart was heavy. She found her one day with tears in her eyes as she made her way through the corridors of the castle.

“My lady,” she called out, reaching to gently take hold of Catelyn’s arm, “What is it that I can do for you to ease your suffering?”

Catelyn smiled through her tears, giving Margaery’s hand a pat. “You are a sweet girl, but you cannot bring my children back to me… my young boys and girls. And now I must go to Walder Frey and try to bribe him with more betrothals so that he does not harm my eldest, the only boy I have left.”

Margaery shook her head. “You do not have to bear this burden alone. My family has much to offer Lord Frey; if it’s money he wants, he shall have it. If he wants to spread his seed across Westeros and create a respected legacy, I have many cousins who are not yet betrothed. Please, let me help you.”

“Thank you, Lady Margaery. I merely...I hope you will understand me when I say I am not certain whether Lord Frey will take you at your word,” Catelyn explained, “He does not know you.”

“He does, my lady,” Margaery told her with a small smile.

It didn’t take long for deals to be made, although it felt like an eternity waiting for Robb to come back to Storm’s End. Whenever she thought the prospect of his return, Margaery found her mind overwhelmed by an cacophony of emotions ranging from joy to excitement to dread, and so she tried not to think about it very often. Every now and then, however, she would glance at the leather woven ring on her finger, and her heart ached for the person she knew could never be hers.

On the day that the Northern armies returned, everyone was stood outside the castle waiting for them. The air was brisk and rustled the grass around their ankles as a seabird let out a long, drawn out cry over their heads. Grey Wind was once again the first to appear, and he immediately came bounding over to Margaery, pressing his large snout against her side.

“I missed you as well, Grey Wind,” she said with a laugh, scratching under his chin.

“What is it with you and that wolf?” Renly asked aloud, quirking a brow.

‘ _Well, he’s more affectionate than you, for one,’_ Margaery thought to herself, pursing her lips together.

“Margaery!” She heard his voice before she looked up and saw him giving her a warm smile from where he was sat astride his horse. He looked different, definitely - his face was more weathered, his curls were a little longer and his beard had grown - and yet at the same time he hadn’t changed at all. That was what she thought, at least, until she saw him shake his head slightly and adopt a more stern expression.

“Lord Renly,” he said more soberly, climbing down to meet Margaery and her husband’s gaze. Just behind him another figure got down from her own horse, a slender young woman with brown eyes, chestnut curls and a heart-shaped face. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Jeyne,” Robb declared as she moved to stand beside him.

‘ _It isn’t the same_ ,’ Margaery told herself, ‘ _It won’t be the same ever again_.’

Lady Jeyne gave a small curtsy, looking eager to please. “It’s nice to meet you all. Robb has told me nothing but good things.” Her voice was soft and sweet.

“We send you away for a few moons and you come back with a victory _and_ a wife,” Renly remarked with a hearty laugh, “Good on you, my lord. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Lady Jeyne.”

Jeyne offered Renly a kind smile. “Thank you,” she said before turning to Margaery who did her best to look welcoming, “You are lucky, my lady, to have a husband with a good sense of humour.”

“My lord husband can certainly lighten the air in any room,” Margaery agreed, directing her smile at Jeyne. She held no ill will towards Robb’s new wife and indeed she was happy for him that they had finally met, but for some reason her cheeks still seemed to ache with effort.

“Welcome to our family, Lady Jeyne,” Catelyn declared, stepping forwards to give her new gooddaughter a hug. Jeyne looked slightly surprised but pleased, and she embraced Catelyn in return.

“If you would be so kind I would like to introduce you to my family as well,” Jeyne said politely, “These are my brothers, Raynald and Rollam; my sister, Eleyna; and my father and mother, Lord Gawen and Lady Sybell.”

“Lord Robb, please tell me you got to celebrate your wedding while you were in the Westerlands,” Renly remarked as Jeyne moved to introduce herself to Stannis and his family, “We heard you were in a bad way before your wife patched you up.”

“No celebration… We did not have time,” Robb replied, his mouth twisting slightly.

“Then you must let me throw you a feast!” Renly exclaimed, clapping the other man on the back, “Just give me a week or so to prepare.”

“You don’t have to-”

“No, I insist!” Renly persisted, “It’s only right that you take some time to commemorate such an auspicious occasion. We can afford to give ourselves one night off.”

After a few more moments of hesitation Robb gave Renly a small nod, though Margaery could tell he was less than enthusiastic about the prospect. Her husband never missed an opportunity to celebrate, she knew very well, and from what she knew about Robb he seemed to be more modest - although she would have thought he might be more willing to commemorate an occasion such as his marriage.

As Jeyne continued her conversation, Margaery glanced over at Robb and their eyes met for a moment. She offered him a smile and her right hand went to her ring situated on the other, fiddling with it absentmindedly as Robb smiled in return. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but before he had the chance his name was brought up in conversation and his attention turned to his wife.

Margaery closed her eyes, unsure if she was relieved or disappointed. There was a part of her that thought it would be good to have a long cry, to expel some of the emotion she’d kept bottled up inside her. But at the same time she did not want to waste any of her energy moping about; Robb still needed her help, and the war wasn’t over yet.

Eventually Stannis invited them all into the castle, and she was left to her own devices once more. She thought she’d put her time to good use and write Walder Frey again, hoping to keep him satisfied so that there would be no chance of him betraying them.

* * *

In the days that followed, Margaery saw relatively little of Robb, which at first she reasoned was to be expected given he was newly wed. She did, however, see a fair amount of Jeyne, which quickly made it apparent that wherever Robb was spending his hours, it was often not with his wife. Jeyne herself was sweet and seemingly eager for someone of her age to talk to, and so Margaery found herself spending rather a lot more time with her than she had expected to. Robb’s wife filled Margaery in what had transpired between her and Robb - thankfully not in detail - and it soon became clear that she was very aware of her role despite never having been prepared for it.

“I do hope that you find yourself with child soon, Lady Margaery. Lady Shireen seems to adore you, and I’m sure she would like a cousin,” Jeyne commented to her on one occasion. She was being kind, Margaery knew, but the words still stung slightly. “If this war goes on for much longer perhaps we’ll be expecting together.”

“That would be nice,” Margaery said, giving her a polite smile.

“My mother makes a posset for me with herbs and milk and ale to help make me fertile. She said her grandmother taught her how to make it,” Jeyne continued, “I drink it every morning. I could ask her to make some for you as well if you’d like.”

“That’s very kind of you, my lady, but I don’t… Excuse me for speaking with such candor, but my husband and I haven’t been on the best of terms lately. I would have no need for a posset at the moment.” Margaery would not say aloud, but she was also a bit wary of taking any drink that was made by a stranger. She’d learned about herbs from the time she was a young girl, and she’d never heard of anything that promoted fertility.

“Oh,” Jeyne remarked, her face falling as she reached for Margaery’s hand, “I’m sorry… You know, women are always talking about how men have such an appetite for certain activities and how they can barely control themselves when they crave that sort of attention, but I haven’t really found that to be the case. I don’t know whether we are lucky or unfortunate that our husbands aren’t so ravenous.” She lowered her voice when she spoke again. “Though a lot of people say Queen Cersei went mad and had King Robert killed because he was sleeping around so much. No one knows how many children he really has.”

Margaery did her very best to hide her surprise at Jeyne’s words. She did not like to think about Robb and Jeyne together if she could possibly avoid it, but she was certain if she had allowed herself to do so that she would not have imagined him to be a man apparently almost as reluctant to visit his marital bed as her own husband.

“I certainly do not envy Queen Cersei,” she agreed after pursing her lips for a moment, “Perhaps we are fortunate in a sense. I do believe in your case at least that it is likely to be only temporary, however, my lady. Our husbands and Lord Stannis are in the midsts of deciding their next move and I would imagine under a great deal of pressure.”

“It does seem as though Robb has been far more distant since we arrived here,” Jeyne mused, “Sometimes we go to the godswood together and then he stays for hours after I’ve gone doing nothing but walking around.”

“He is very loyal to the old gods… From what I do know about him,” Margaery was quick to correct herself, “He might just be worried about the upcoming siege… I know they have discussed attacking King’s Landing in some detail, and it will be a stressful battle no matter how prepared they are.”

“That’s true,” Jeyne agreed, “I suppose I should learn to be more understanding. Robb is a good man, and I’m certain we will be just fine once this war is over. Lady Catelyn said it took some time for her and Lord Eddard to build their marriage and come to love each other, so I will have to practice patience.”

“Perhaps that is what we all need to do,” Margaery suggested, though truthfully in her own case she had long passed the point of being patient. From her own conversations with Loras she knew even he was becoming frustrated, as he knew just as well soon people would likely start asking questions about how fertile Margaery was.

The conversation died down and Margaery went back to her embroidery, sitting with Jeyne in a comfortable silence. She had started out trying to sew a stag for Shireen, but the animal in question was looking less and less deer-like as she went on and more and more canine. It was as she was contemplating whether to continue or perhaps just start over that she heard a knock on the door, and looked up to see her husband looking flustered.

“I need to speak with you,” Renly declared, indicating towards Margaery, “Sorry to intrude, Lady Jeyne.”

“No need to apologize, my lord,” Jeyne replied before giving Margaery an encouraging smile, “I will see you at supper, my lady.”

Margaery nodded and then stood from her seat, making her way over to her husband. He took hold of her arm once they were in the corridor and nearly dragged her off to the nearest vacant room, closing the door behind them.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest. The only time she had ever seen him this unhinged was when she’d tried inviting him to her bed.

“You need to talk to Robb Stark,” Renly told her, to which Margaery could only blink at him in shock. She let the silence linger in the air for a few moments before he explained further. “I...I think he must have been looking for me, but all I know for certain is that I saw him walking away just after I’d been having a conversation with your brother.”

“What kind of conversation?” Margaery questioned, her eyes narrowing.

“The kind that I would not want anybody apart from the three of us to have any knowledge of,” Renly snapped, “I don’t know how much he heard, if anything, but I know he trusts you.”

“Renly…”

“Margaery, please. If he heard half of what I think he heard, Loras and I could both be in serious trouble.”

“You’re being paranoid. Lord Robb wouldn’t tell anyone your secrets even if he did hear you.”

“I need you to make sure,” Renly pleaded; she could hear the desperation in his voice.

She gave a sigh. “Fine,” she conceded, “I will talk to him.”

“Good. Do it soon,” Renly instructed, “I don't know where he went afterwards but his wife might.”

“Probably to the godswood. Lady Jeyne told me he's been spending a lot of time there.”

“I’m surprised you haven't been there with him,” Renly commented, making Margaery scowl.

“I’ll find out what I can,” Margaery assured him, “But I really don't think you need to worry. Robb would never cause any harm to anyone just for being different.”

Sure enough, Margaery found Robb where she assumed he would be, his back to her as he knelt before the skeleton of the weirwood that once was. She took in a deep breath before she approached him; it had been a long while since they’d spoken in private.

“Lord Robb,” she said softly so as not to startle him, “I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you in your time of prayer. There is something we ought to discuss.”

“Aye, I believe there is,” Robb replied. He kept his back to her and she found herself feeling suddenly on edge.

“My lord husband thinks he ought to be concerned... I would like to think he need not be,” Margaery said before swallowing for a moment, “I also have faith that you are a good man. Is there...do you have any questions you would like an answer to?”

Robb was silent and Margaery held her breath. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest, sounding so ridiculously loud to her that she almost wondered if Robb could hear it too. He finally turned around, and she could see tears glistening in his eyes. “Gods, Margaery…” he breathed, “I wish you'd told me.”

“Robb…” Margaery muttered, dropping to her knees beside him and slipping her arms around his neck. She could not bear to see him unhappy, especially because of her, and she forgot all of her courtesies when she saw his tears. “Please don’t cry,” she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

His arms hung limp at his sides for a moment before he slid them around her waist and held her tight. “I wish I would have known… I wouldn’t have…” he trailed off, not finishing the thought aloud. Margaery resisted the urge to ask him what he’d meant, thinking it was probably best if she didn’t know.

“Nobody else knows,” Margaery said, although she was aware it was a poor justification, “There’s too much at stake, especially now. I’m sorry, I should have...”

“No. Gods, please, don’t be sorry,” Robb said, letting his eyes meet hers, “I can’t even imagine...you are the most amazing person I know, Margaery. You think only of others while the rest of us can only think of ourselves. I only wish...you deserve to have a husband who would love you.”

Margaery gave a gentle sob and then wrapped her arms around Robb once more, burying her face in his neck. Marrying for duty instead of love was a reality she had come to grips with a long time ago, but hearing Robb say that she deserved the latter was almost more than she could bear. What hurt the most was knowing that she could have altered their lives differently, she could have proposed a betrothal to her parents that would have led to them being married, but it was too late now.

For now she just wanted to be held by him, selfishly. She could not take his face in her hands and kiss him as she wanted to, so this would have to do.

“I thought of you every day while I was away,” Robb murmured into Margaery’s hair, “I wished things were different. I wished you weren’t married to Lord Renly. You...you don’t have to say anything but I just want you to know that I could never forget you even though I tried.”

 _Jeyne_. Had she been his way of trying to forget? If Renly were the only other person to consider Margaery would not have hesitated under her current circumstances, but she knew both she and Robb were thinking of the same young woman who deserved far better to be hurt in such a way. “You have a wonderful lady wife,” Margaery affirmed, “She is sweet and kind and she will be such a loving mother to your children someday.”

“Aye,” she heard Robb agree, “But she isn’t you.”

“Oh, Robb…” Margaery managed to get out, “I… I care about you more than anyone else on this earth. I would do anything for you. If I could turn back time…” She had been the one to send him to the Westerlands, to orchestrate his marriage to Jeyne, and it was not even what he wanted. ‘ _There is still hope yet,’_ she thought, ‘ _He might come to love her over time - once we go back to our respective homes and live out our lives separately. As long as he is happy…”_

Her heart belonged to him, she knew, and it always would, but she could not tell him that. She could not splinter his marriage more than she already had.

“I wouldn't dare doubt you,” Robb remarked, and Margaery felt him hug her just a little bit tighter as he nuzzled into her curls, “Perhaps we just needed to be in a different lifetime.” He pulled away from her slowly then reached forwards to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “You don’t need to worry...about your husband, I mean. I won’t tell a soul.”

Margaery had to take in a slow, deep breath to stop herself from crying again. “Thank you,” she whispered, finding herself unable to say much more.

“Of course,” Robb whispered in return, tenderly tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, “I wish there was more I could do.”

“Live for me, Robb. That’s what you can do,” Margaery told him softly, “Make the best of your life, try to find the joy in everything. If you’re happy… I can’t help but be happy as well.”

“I will, then,” Robb said, hanging his head momentarily, “I know I have a great deal to be thankful for and I would never want anybody else - especially not you - to be unhappy because of me. I only...Margaery, I…”

Margaery silenced him, gently pressing a finger to his lips. If he had been about to say what she suspected he might have been, she knew she wasn’t prepared to hear it. Those words would only make everything more difficult and she only hoped he would understand that as well.

He gave a slow nod and then stood to his feet, helping her up as well. She leaned forward to embrace him again, and they stayed like that for some time - not speaking but instead getting lost in the feeling of one another. It pained Margaery more than she could hope to say that she would never be able to hold him like this again. She had never felt more safe and cherished than she did in his strong arms.

When they eventually pulled away, she turned and left the godswood in silence, thinking it would be better that way. A few more tears fell from her eyes as she walked to her chambers, leaving the man she loved behind.

Renly intercepted her just before she reached her room, still looking just as on edge as he had when she had seen him earlier. She hastily gave her cheeks another wipe, hoping it wasn’t too obvious that she had been crying.

“You have nothing to worry about,” she told him simply, hoping he would take her at her word. Either way, she didn’t stay to find out, hurrying past him so that she could collapse onto her bed. The feast to celebrate Robb’s wedding would be in a couple of days, and she wasn’t entirely sure where she was going to find the strength to be as happy as she had asked him to be for her.

* * *

The commemoration feast for Jeyne and Robb was nothing short of a grand affair, though no one expected anything less from Renly. The younger Baratheon brother seemed to go out of his way for this particular occasion, serving the finest seafood and imported wine that the Stormlands had to offer. Margaery knew it was because he was either showing his gratitude to Robb for keeping his secrets or because he wanted to stay in his good graces, but no one else was aware of anything being different.

Margaery made sure to take a seat a fair distance from Robb, not wanting to intrude on his and Jeyne’s time together and thinking that it would probably make things easier on herself as well. She did glance over at them every now and then and caught glimpses of him smiling and Jeyne giggling. Robb seemed to have taken her advice to heart, and for that at least she was glad. She was beginning to grow more secure in the notion that he would grow to love Jeyne and perhaps he already did a little. She was certain above all that he would forget about her once he held his first child in his arms.

Renly had not spoken to her since he asked her to converse with Robb, and Catelyn had been occupied since her son’s return, and so she felt lonelier than ever before. No one even had the decency to speak with her during the feast. She sat with her hands in her lap, fidgeting with her ring. ‘ _This will all be over soon,_ ’ she told herself, ‘ _The war will end when we take King’s Landing, and Robb will go back to Winterfell. I won’t ever have to see him again. I won’t be reminded of what could have been.’_

It was as she was glancing over at the doors and wondering whether anyone would notice if she just left that Margaery was slightly surprised to see Jeyne’s mother, Lady Sybell, slink into the room. She hadn’t been paying enough attention to notice the elder woman’s absence, but it did strike her as a little strange for her to show up in the middle of a feast.

“I would like to propose a toast!” Renly declared loudly, drawing the attention of everyone around him. Her husband had already had more of his fair share to drink and this was the third or fourth time he had called for a toast, but he had grown no less enthusiastic.

“Hang on a minute,” Margaery heard Robb say before he reached to pour himself some more wine, offering some to his wife as well.

“I shouldn’t.” Jeyne’s voice was faint, but Margaery could still make out her words. “Mother told me not to drink wine if there is a possibility that I might be with child.”

Robb gave a smile and a nod, then lifting his goblet up along with Renly.

“To Lord Robb!” Renly shouted, his words slurred, “And to our… alliance and such.”

“To Lord Robb!” Margaery joined in the chorus, giving a small smile. There was not a great deal that could improve her mood on such a night, but she was happy to toast a man she greatly admired. Everyone took a drink, and Margaery gathered up her skirts, thinking it might be a good time for her to slip out unnoticed.

“Robb?” Margaery heard Jeyne’s voice say quietly, distantly, “Are you all right? Robb?” Her tone had become more frantic, and just as Margaery turned her head she heard the sound of a plate smashing against the floor.

From across the hall she could see him begin to shake, and it took her a moment to realize what was happening. When she did, she was chilled to the bone with fear.

"ROBB!" she screamed, jumping up from her spot at the table to hurry over to him, not caring who was watching - Jeyne, Renly, Catelyn... they didn't matter. All that mattered was Robb slouched over in his chair, his mouth frothing and his body convulsing.

She moved past his wife to take his head in her hands, promptly deciding to stick her fingers in his mouth to try and make him throw up. He gagged, and some of the wine dribbled down his chin, yet he was still racked with shakes. "Stay with me," she pleaded, her eyes filling with tears, "Please, Robb... Please."

 _‘No. No, no, no. He wasn't supposed to die,’_ she thought, angrily wiping at her wet cheeks to clear her view, ‘ _He was supposed to live and be happy. I made everything happen as it was meant to happen.’_

"What's happening to him?" Jeyne asked, her voice trembling. She attempted to push forward to her husband's side, but Catelyn got there before she could.

"Robb..." she gasped, her eyes wide.

With Catelyn’s help, Margaery eased him out of his chair so that he would not fall over, and she held him close, trying to stop his body from quivering.

"Mother... Margaery..." he gasped out, his eyes shifting between them.

"I'm here, Robb, I'm here," Margaery whispered, cradling his head in her lap and stroking his curls as tears streamed down her face.

"Margaery..." he spoke again, barely audible, "I love you."

“I love you,” Margaery whispered back almost without thinking. She was crying so much that she wasn’t sure that Robb would even be able to understand her, but she thought a peaceful look seemed to cross his face if only for a moment. His body then became very, very still, and she felt his weight sink into her lap.

Catelyn let out a cry that seemed to pierce Margaery’s very soul and Jeyne had slumped to the floor with wide eyes, seemingly incapable of moving. It was then that Margaery heard a rallying call from outside, and she witnessed the bizarre scene of Sybell Westerling waving a handkerchief from the window.  

Margaery thought of the fact that the Westerlings had once been sworn to House Lannister, that they had only switched their allegiance after Robb’s abrupt marriage to Jeyne. She thought of how much gold Tywin Lannister would be able to offer to a struggling house, how much prestige the Westerlings had to gain from helping him defeat his enemies. She thought of the conversation she'd had with Jeyne, of what she'd told her about her mother mixing a drink to help her conceive.

The Lannister armies were coming... They had known that this would happen. They had managed to get their hands around Robb's throat again. More tears slipped down her cheeks and landed on Robb's paling face. She could barely even hear the screams anymore, nor Catelyn's sobs.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the goblet he'd drunk from still perched on the table. She planted a kiss on Robb’s forehead, carefully slipping out from under him. She blinked a few times as she stood to her feet, resolutely making her way over to it in the midst of the chaos.

‘ _Perhaps we just needed to be in a different lifetime_ ,’ Robb had told her. Margaery had no way of knowing for certain if she would awake again or if her lives were finite, but she did know that this one was no longer worth living in. She could have endured a great deal knowing Robb was safe and alive in Winterfell, but Robb was gone and her resolve to live had gone with him. If there was even the smallest chance she could be given another opportunity to make it right, she knew she had to take it.

She held the goblet up to her lips and took a long swig, downing the rest of its contents. It was spicy and tingled as it went down her throat, and suddenly she felt as though she could not breathe. She sank to the ground and closed her eyes and let the poison take her.


	4. Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, an apology for the fact that this chapter took rather a lot longer than the others! Both of us have had a very busy summer, but we're so glad we managed to finish this for the beginning of Robbaery Week over on Tumblr. It starts today so, if you are interested, check out our fan blog robbmargaerysource dot tumblr dot com and come join in the fun! Thank you all for your lovely comments and we hope this longer, final chapter will be worth the wait <3

_“Other great houses take lions and wolves for their sigils, and draw their power from the gold in their mountains or the cold of their winters. But mountains run dry, winter yields to_ **_spring_ ** _, and the rose blooms once more.”_

* * *

Margaery had never, in any of her lives, been a strong believer in the songs and stories she had heard as a child. She did not look down upon those who enjoyed them - indeed, she thought it admirable that women such as her dear friend Sansa could still hold on to such beautiful notions even in the face of adversity. She, however, had always been raised and instructed to be practical. There was no knight coming on his white horse to rescue her so that they could live happily in a faraway castle for the rest of their days. There was only her current circumstance, and her role was to determine how best to survive in it.

What Margaery loved about Robb was that he wasn’t a knight from the songs. He wasn’t a second son with few ties in search of glory; he was the heir to the seat of a noble house, with responsibilities and a commitment to his family. He wouldn’t ride in one day and whisk her away only to grow tired of her later and find someone else; he was the type of man who would cherish his wife and raise a family with her. He may have owned a white horse at some point in his life, but he was no story. He was a real person.

As a child, she thought of how kind a friend he was, and how much she would love to be able to play with him in the snow in Winterfell. As she grew a little bit older, she wondered what she would say were he to pay a visit to her home, and whether they would enjoy going riding together in Highgarden. As she grew older still, she remembered the feeling of his strong arms around her from her previous life, and thought about how much she had wanted to kiss him.

Her parents found her fascination with the North strange to say the least. She did not care, however, ever persistent in asking them for books on Northern lore and history, sure to express her interest at every opportunity. She visited the godswood at least once every week, and sometimes she felt Robb offer up his prayers at the same time as her, his words carried all the way from Winterfell to Highgarden on the winds.

When she reached her twelfth nameday, she begged her father to let her write to one of the children in a noble house in the North so that she might find out more about their experience and culture. Mace seemed hesitant, but his mother set him straight.

“Something more fruitful might come out of this,” Margaery heard her grandmother say quietly yet firmly, “Don't the Starks have a son her age? Think of the possibilities, Mace.”

 _‘Bless you, Grandmother,’_ Margaery thought, smiling to herself.

That day Mace wrote Lord Eddard to see if his eldest would have any interest in being Margaery’s writing companion. The response took a while to arrive from far away in Winterfell, but when it did finally come Margaery was delighted that it had not only a positive response from Lord Eddard but also a letter from Robb himself.

“What are you reading?” Sam had asked Margaery, giving her a knowing smile. She had ensured he was fostered in Highgarden once more in this life and was pleased to have him as yet another brother, but one who was even closer to her age and held very similar interests. Sam had been very helpful in finding some of the most obscure texts about the North in their library, which he had come to know like the back of his hand.

“Lord Stark’s son has written to me,” Margaery explained, her tone filled with excitement. Robb’s letter was relatively short, with no more than an introduction to himself and a few questions about her, but his humility and his kind nature came through even so.

She clutched the letter to her heart for a moment and then carefully folded it so she could preserve it and place it in her desk drawer later.

“You look happy,” Sam noted, giving a laugh, “Maybe you will get to visit him and see snow.”

“I certainly hope so,” she replied, reaching for some parchment so that she could write Robb back. She did not want to come on too strong, though it was difficult to contain her elation when she thought about how she was in correspondence with the young man she’d grown to love in her previous life.

As the weeks and moons went by, their letters to each other became longer and longer and more and more intimate. It was the strangest experience, Margaery thought, to love someone and yet at the same time feel as though she was falling in love with them. She had never known Robb at this particular moment in his life, she realized, when he was not burdened by the pain of his father’s death or the responsibility of leading an army. Robb often told her stories of his antics at Winterfell, making her laugh when she read about what he and Jon and Theon would get up to. He was also candid with her at times, telling her of how he feared he might not be ready when the day came for him to take his father’s seat as Lord of Winterfell. In return, Margaery told him of her favorite things to do in Highgarden, and confessed that at times she felt constrained by what was expected of her as a young woman of noble birth. Sometimes she wondered if he remembered her at all, if he felt the same as she did.

One day her father called her to his study, smiling when he presented her with a letter from Lord Eddard that he’d received. “It seems your friend Robb has grown rather fond of you,” he remarked, “How would you feel about the prospect of a betrothal? I know you are still quite young,  but the Starks seem like an honorable family.”

“To Robb?” Margaery breathed, scarcely able to believe her father’s words. After so many lives and particularly after her last, the prospect of marrying Robb seemed almost too good to be true. “I...it would be bring me nothing but happiness to be his betrothed, Father,” she admitted.

“Then I will write back to Lord Stark at once,” Mace declared, “I just hope Lord Tarly and Sam will not be too disappointed. He seems very fond of you.”

Margaery shook her head gently. “He is like a brother,” she explained, “Besides, I think Lady Merry has her eye on Sam. I believe they would make a good match.”

Mace gave a laugh. “Very well. I am happy for you, sweetling. You wear a smile on your face all of the time these days.”

“Lord Robb is very kind and brave, and I already care very much for him,” she said, “I could not ask for a better husband-to-be.”

When she next wrote to Robb, Margaery decided to be even more open with him than she had been before. Though she did not tell him anywhere near the full extent of what she remembered from her previous lives, she did say that she had the notion that they had perhaps met before, and that she felt drawn to him in a way that went even beyond the words they exchanged with each other. She expressed how delighted she was at the prospect of their betrothal and found that she surprised even herself by how easily the words came to her. Of the two of them, Robb had always managed to be more poetic in fewer words in his correspondence, but she found that thinking of their marriage seemed to give her quill a life of its own.

For his part, Robb’s letters grew sweeter by the day; with them he sent her gifts - small tokens of affection. The first parcel contained a blue rose that had been dried and pressed, the second a rounded locket made of bronze and iron, and the third a tiny painted portrait of him for her to keep in the locket. She felt giddy looking at it, her heart giving something akin to a flutter as she studied his features by candlelight before she went to bed every night. She always thought him handsome, but now he was to be hers and only hers, and that fact had her biting back a smile on occasion. She longed to see him again in person... for the first time in _this_ life.

More than a year had passed since she first began writing Robb, and she was feeling eager. When she asked her parents when they might visit her betrothed, they told her they had already spoken with Lord and Lady Stark; they would surprise Robb on his fourteenth nameday. She still had to wait some time for that day to arrive and the journey would be long, but now she had a definitive date to look forward to. She and Robb would meet again, and this time there was nothing to prevent them from being together.

* * *

Margaery first saw Winterfell from the window of her carriage, first as a toy castle in the distance then growing larger and larger until she looked up to see the granite towers Robb had told her he sometimes played in looming over her head. It was certainly very different to Highgarden, but Margaery thought it had its own beauty to it, and she knew from Robb’s letters than on the inside it was warm and welcoming as water from the hot springs was piped through the walls. She’d told him she very much liked the sound of that, and he had written back that he was pleased as he would never want her to dislike her own castle.

 _Her own castle_ . She had been married before in her previous lives, but she had never grown to think of Horn Hill or Storm’s End as _her_ castles. They had always belonged to her husbands, not her, but it seemed as though Robb thought of things differently.

Her heart gave a leap in her chest when she saw part of the Stark family standing outside waiting to greet her - Ned with his serious expression and strong build, Catelyn with her long, auburn hair, Sansa with her eager smile and tall frame. The youngest three Starks were missing from the party, as was Robb, and she could only suspect they were keeping their eldest brother occupied and distracted whilst she and her family arrived.

It felt surreal to see Robb’s family standing before her as she had never known it before. She hadn’t been sure what to expect from Ned, but despite his stern exterior his eyes were filled with warmth and his smile, which appeared slowly on his face, was kind. Catelyn was the same and yet also a different woman altogether, not haunted by her husband’s death and clearly filled with pride in her family. As for Sansa, Margaery had not seen her for so long that she could not resist giving her a hug upon their meeting, which if Sansa was startled by then she did not show it.

“Welcome to Winterfell, Lady Margaery,” Sansa said with a small laugh, “It’s so exciting to have you here.”

“It’s so good to be here. I’ve heard wonderful things about you, all of you.”

‘ _We were best friends once,’_ she thought to herself as she gently squeezed Sansa’s hands, ‘ _I hope that we will be again.’_

“And we’ve heard nothing but good things about you,” Ned remarked, “Robb is in the courtyard playing with Arya, Bran, and Rickon. I’m sure you are anxious to meet him.”

Margaery nearly said ‘aye’ before catching herself and nodding her head. “I ought to introduce you to my family-”

“We’ll make our own introductions,” Catelyn interjected, “It’s not necessary to keep you waiting… Sansa, sweetling, why don’t you show Lady Margaery to the courtyard?”

“Of course,” Sansa agreed, immediately extending her hand to Margaery, “Please, come with me, my lady.”

Margaery smiled and was quick to accept Sansa’s kind offer, feeling immensely pleased that the younger girl seemed to have already warmed to her.

“You must think me very over-eager. I apologize,” Sansa said on their way to the courtyard, “I only...I’ve never met a lady from the south before save for my mother. I’m so eager to hear the stories you must have to tell.”

“I will gladly share them with you...but only if you will share yours with me,” Margaery told her, her smile broadening into a grin, “I have never had a sister before, and now I will have two. I cannot believe my good fortune.”

Sansa laughed once more. Margaery had forgotten how much she loved the sound of her friend’s laughter, but her memories came flooding back of them strolling about the Red Keep’s gardens together.

Her heart was beating wildly in her chest by the time they reached the inner courtyard, and she could hardly breathe out of anticipation. It was difficult to believe that Robb was a mere few steps from her, that she was in Winterfell, that they were betrothed.

Margaery heard him before she saw him, shouting something she could not quite make out to one of his siblings. Bran took off in a run all of a sudden, laughing loudly all the while, and it was as Robb turned his head that his eyes fell on her. She had never sent him a portrait of her and as far as she was aware nobody else had given him one, but he nonetheless seemed to recognize her immediately, his jaw dropping as he stood transfixed to the spot.

She wanted to run to him, and for a moment she considered it, but she decided to be proper so as not to startle him, quickly making her way over to him. He was younger than when they’d met in her previous life, still a bit boyish in the face. His portrait had made him look somewhat sober, but she knew her sweet Robb was full of light even in the midst of darkness, and as he stood before her now he was just as spirited as she’d remembered him.

His whole face lit up in a smile, and he finally stepped forward, blinking several times as if he could not believe she was real.

“My lady…” Robb said as he gave a small bow, ever the gentleman. Even as he lowered his head, however, his eyes did not leave hers. “Please, don’t think I am saying this with anything other than happiness, but...what on earth are you doing here?”

Margaery gave a small giggle, curtsying at him in return. “I am here to see you, my lord. Your lord father and lady mother arranged it. Happy nameday, by the way.”

“Happy nameday, Robb!” Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon all chimed in.

Robb’s face flushed almost as red as his hair, his smile never faltering as he reached to take Margaery’s hand and press a kiss to her knuckles. “In that case, this is truly the best nameday I could ever have imagined.”

“So _you’re_ Margaery,” Arya declared, looking her up and down, “I was beginning to think Robb had made you up.”

Margaery laughed aloud, shaking her head in amusement. “I am very real, and I’m so happy I am because I’m really glad to meet you.” She kept hold of Robb’s hand as she spoke, subtly playing with his fingers.

“Perhaps we should let Robb and Margaery talk on their own,” Sansa suggested, raising her eyebrows slightly, “Come on, we can go meet the rest of the Tyrells.”

“I want to meet Willas!” Bran declared, hurrying after Sansa.

“Me too!” Rickon exclaimed, following his older brother.

Robb gave a gentle chuckle as his siblings disappeared from sight. He still had his fingers threaded through Margaery’s on one hand, and as he turned towards her he took the other one as well.

"I can still scarcely believe you’re here," he murmured, giving her hands a gentle squeeze, “I've been wanting to meet you for so long.”

"I have been wanting to meet you as well." She let out a soft laugh at the sight of his cheeks growing hot, and she stood on tiptoe to kiss each one in turn, only making his face redder. It was a gesture she had performed without even stopping to think, and yet she quickly realized it was the first time her lips had ever touched his skin.

He leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers, and it was her turn to flush pink at the demonstration of affection. "Margaery..." he breathed, and she was certain her name never sounded sweeter on anyone else's lips, "How did I get lucky enough to be betrothed to you?"

 _‘You've no idea the trouble I've gone through to make it so, my love,’_ she thought to herself, though all she could do was smile as he pressed a kiss to her nose. She would endure a million lifetimes if it meant being where she was now with him. He was safe and happy. Some part of her was terrified that she would take some misstep in the future to change this fact, but the gods seemed to be reassuring her that her decision was right this time around.

“I want to show you everything,” Robb declared softly, “And I also would like to know everything about your journey here. Perhaps you can help me understand what I did to deserve such a wonderful surprise on my nameday.”

Margaery did her best not to well up, though she could feel herself get somewhat misty-eyed as she spoke. Everything still felt so surreal. “You deserve the world, Robb… You are more wonderful than you’ll ever take credit for. Meeting you is the best gift I ever could have asked for, and it’s not even my nameday.”

“You’re too kind to me,” he responded, the tips of his ears going red.

She shook her head. “You must get used to my words of affection,” she teased, “I’m afraid I will never stop singing your praises.”

“Is that so? I suppose I can accept that...provided that you allow me to never stop singing _your_ praises,” Robb said in return, “Were it not for you we wouldn’t even be here together. I thank the gods as often as I can that you asked if you could write to me.”

“I thank the gods that you agreed. You must have thought it passing strange that a girl from the Reach should want to correspond with you.”

“I was a little surprised,” Robb admitted with a chuckle, “But...this is going to sound very odd, but when I  heard your name for the first time it felt as though I had heard it before. As if the gods had whispered it to me in the wind, perhaps.”

Margaery looked up at Robb with admiration in her eyes and decided that in more than three lifetimes she had done enough waiting. She leaned forward to close the small distance between them and press a tender kiss to his lips.

She wondered briefly if she was moving too quickly - if he would be shocked by the gesture - but if he was hesitant at first, he quickly relaxed into their embrace. She was overtaken by a dizzying rush of emotions as they shared their first kiss, and she was certain she’d never been happier.

“Gods, Margaery…” Robb breathed, barely pulling away from her. Any doubts she might have had about how he felt about her decision were put to rest when he leant in and kissed her again, still just as gentle but lingering for longer this time. When they broke apart once more, they were both smiling.

“That is one thing we definitely could not have done through our letters,” Margaery teased, giving a jovial laugh.

“No, most definitely not,” Robb agreed, “That was...wonderful.”

“It _was_ wonderful,” Margaery said, reaching a hand up to run her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. _‘More than wonderful, really,’_ she thought, ‘ _I cannot believe I get to do this for the rest of my days.’_

“Would you like to see the castle?” Robb asked, stroking the back of her other hand with his thumb.

“Yes, very much so,” Margaery answered, “I’m sorry. You did say that you wanted to show me around and here I am distracting you.”

“There’s no need to apologize at all,” Robb affirmed, “I only can no longer promise you’ll see _everything..._ because I would like to kiss you again if you would like that.”

Margaery’s face flushed once more, and she let her hand swing gently in Robb’s as they made their way out of the courtyard. “I would like that very much,” she told him.

It was a good thing that Robb knew Winterfell well or Margaery was certain he would have run into the castle walls or decor as he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of her. Every so often they stopped to exchange a kiss or two, and he would explain where they were. She was incredibly grateful to the Starks for letting the two of them spend some time alone together, and delighted by the fact that whenever they happened upon other people Robb would introduce her as his betrothed.

“There’s one question I’m afraid to ask,” Robb confessed to her at one point. They had toured most of the outer castle by then and were now on their way to the Great Keep, where Robb had said he would show her the Great Hall and then his chambers. “How long are you planning on staying here?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

Margaery giggled once more, her eyes falling to the ground temporarily. “Well, I brought quite a lot of my things, including the sewing patterns for my wedding dress. I suppose I can stay here as long as you like. Forever, actually, if that’s what you desire.”

“Really?” Robb asked, his eyes lighting up, “I...I would love that, truly. But what about you? Is it what you desire? It would be difficult for you to leave your family, I’d imagine.”

“They will most likely stay here for a little while longer, and I can say my goodbyes.” She couldn’t help the smile that formed on her lips just before she spoke again. In none of her previous lives had either of her husbands ever asked her what _she_ had wanted. “I will miss them, but...I am also very excited by the thought of beginning my life here with you.”

“I am excited as well,” Robb said, "This morning I had not even met you in person, and now it feels as if you were always meant to be here with me. I can scarcely believe I'm standing in front of my wife-to-be."

Margaery let go of Robb's hand only to slip her arms around his middle in an embrace. "I love you, Robb," she whispered in his ear, "I did not want to tell you in a letter but instead when I met you face to face."

Margaery watched as Robb’s face slowly turned pink, starting from his cheeks and moving all the way up to his ears. It was endearing and she probably would have told him as much had she not been holding her breath waiting for what he would say next.

“I love you, too, Margaery,” Robb whispered back, “I never...I didn’t know it was possible to fall in love with someone just from their words on a page. I suppose I didn’t really know anything about falling in love, but it was so, so easy with you.”

It felt so good to hear Robb say those words to her in a place and time where they were both happy and well. She leaned in to kiss him once more, and his response was so enthusiastic that he nearly lifted her off of her feet, spinning her around. She laughed against his lips and did not pull away until they were both breathless.

* * *

She had lived several lifetimes, and yet the longer she spent at Winterfell, the more Margaery realized there was so much she had yet to experience.

Never before had she begun to feel part of a family other than her own. She grew to care deeply for each and every one of the Starks, from her future goodbrothers and sisters to her future goodparents. Rickon, Bran and Arya were all tremendous fun to play with, and Margaery spent many a day chasing them around the castle. Sansa was her frequent companion, joining her for almost anything from hawking to embroidery. Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard did not show her anything but kindness, and she felt through their actions a sweet sense of protectiveness over her as a young woman from the south in a new land. Most of all, though, there was Robb, who had become her best friend and a great deal more besides.

He was her partner in everything. She never had to worry about handling things on her own again. It took her a while to learn to come to him first with any problems or concerns that she had, but he was always willing to talk things out with her and ensure her peace of mind in any given situation.

When her family did leave to go back to Highgarden, she received nothing but approval from them. Her mother told her that she had blossomed into a beautiful winter flower during their time in the North, her father said she was going to make a wonderful wife, and her brothers mentioned that they felt Robb had become part of the family nearly instantaneously.

Margaery watched from the window of one of Winterfell’s towers as her family’s party grew smaller and smaller in her line of view, ultimately disappearing from her sight over the horizon. She noticed Robb next to her appeared somewhat concerned, and she turned to offer him a smile.

“Don’t worry, my love,” Margaery reassured him softly, “As I said, I’m more than happy to be here with you.” She leant forward to press a kiss to his cheek, running her fingers through his beard which he had started to grow a little longer after she had told him how much she liked it.

“And I can’t believe my fortune that you’re here with me,” Robb said in return, “All the same, my mother and I have been preparing something to help you feel a little more at home.”

“Have you really?” Margaery queried, her eyes bright as she looked at her husband-to-be, “Just when I think I can’t love you any more than I already do, you prove me wrong.”

“The same goes for you, sweetheart,” Robb countered with a grin, his ears pink, “Which is why I want to do everything within my power to make you happy and comfortable.” He gave her hand that he was holding a gentle squeeze. “Come with me,” he beckoned.

Margaery nodded, letting her lead him through the winding corridors of the castle. She had grown reasonably familiar with it in the time she had spent there so far, and she knew enough to know they were nearing his chambers. When they approached them, however, Robb kept on going, taking her to another door further down the hallway.

“I certainly wouldn't mind if we shared a room as soon as possible,” Robb admitted, smiling sheepishly, “However, until then, I would quite like it if we had adjoining rooms, so I'm planning on moving over here once they've finished painting and I was hoping you might join me and stay in the room next to mine. This way we can be closer to each other and...well, I thought in the future we could turn the adjoining room into a nursery.”

“I wish that we could get married right now,” Margaery murmured, giving her betrothed an adoring look, “Gods, Robb, how do you think of everything? I must be the happiest woman alive.” She pressed her lips to his cheek. “Of course I will join you when we are husband and wife… I am looking forward to that day. But until then, you have given me more than I could have asked for. It’s so lovely to have such a beautiful room of my own in Winterfell.”

“It’s the very least I can do for my future wife. I thought perhaps we could ask the painters to make it look like your room in Highgarden,” Robb suggested, turning in towards Margaery. His nose brushed against hers before he leant in even further and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Mmm, marrying you right now would be nothing short of perfect,” he murmured, barely pulling away.

“There are no painters in the room now, are there?” Margaery asked, raising her eyebrows.

Robb shook his head, looking somewhat confused.

She giggled, giving his hand a small tug. “Let us take advantage of that fact, then,” she jested, her voice soft. A look of understanding registered on Robb’s face, and he eagerly followed her into her temporary chambers.

* * *

Kissing Robb was _amazing._ He would cradle her face tenderly, his fingers dancing over her jaw. His lips were soft and warm, and he would kiss her gently at first before nipping at her skin. She could feel his smile without even having to look, and the little gasps and hums he let out sent gooseflesh up and down her arms. Sometimes they would spend hours in bed this way, telling anyone who asked that they were out hawking or visiting the market, though Robb's flushed cheeks often revealed otherwise. She longed for their wedding day when they would be able to act upon their desires without reservation.

Sometimes when she was alone her eyes would unexpectedly fill with tears of joy as she thought about her betrothed. Sometimes she felt her heart would burst out of her chest with happiness. She loved him more than she could adequately put into words, and the look on his face whenever she was near let her know that he felt the same. She had never been able to imagine before being betrothed to someone who not only made her feel calm and safe to speak about anything but could also take her breath away, particularly when they were alone.

On their riding trips together they would share a horse and sometimes he sat behind her, pressing kisses to her neck often and unexpectedly. He was affectionate with her in front of others as well, holding her hand while they sat in on Lord Eddard hearing petitions, and as time went on she found he only became more so, going as far as to share food with her at supper while she made herself comfortable on his lap. His actions only emboldened her further, and she decided to pay a visit to his chambers late one night only to discover a Northern custom she had not previously been aware of.

“You truly have never worn any clothes to sleep before?” Margaery enquired, unable to help but give a small giggle.

“Never. The notion seems a little odd to me,” Robb admitted, “I most certainly will if you’d ever like me to. I have to confess I am very glad that you’ve decided to adopt our ways, however.”

He raised his eyebrows at her, and Margaery giggled again. She hoped that the walls of the castle were thick enough and that they weren’t being too loud as the two of them were in Robb’s bed naked as their namedays. Margaery had been somewhat nervous at first when at her suggestion Robb had started helping her out of her clothes, but the way he had looked at her and kissed her and the sensation of his skin against hers had soon put any fears in her mind to rest. It felt so good to be desired, and knowing that his desire was born out of love for her filled her with endless joy.

“I like the Northern ways,” she said to him, “In case you haven’t noticed already. I do have a question, however, my love. Do Northerners take part in the bedding custom?”

“The bedding…” Robb mused, momentarily distracted by running a hand through Margaery’s hair, “Oh, aye, I suppose we do. I remember being at a wedding once and not understanding much of what was going on until Theon explained it.” A crease appeared in his brow and he shook his head slightly. “It still doesn’t really make sense to me. I don’t...if a husband and wife are to become intimate with one another then why should anyone else be involved? It must make the whole affair rather unpleasant.”

“It does,” Margaery affirmed, perhaps a little too quickly. She bit down on her lower lip before she clarified herself. “...from what I’ve heard.”

“Besides that, I’d like us to be the only people who see… all of each other,” Robb continued quietly, running his fingers over Margaery’s cheek. He gave a small chuckle, and she knew him well enough by now to tell that he had thought of something amusing. “I will just tell everyone to piss off when it comes time for the bedding,” he said, making her laugh, “It’s our day anyhow, isn’t it? We ought to be able to do whatever makes us happiest and most comfortable.”

“Aye,” Margaery agreed, pressing several kisses to Robb’s cheek, “How are you so wonderful?”

“You often ask me that, sweetheart,” Robb remarked, smiling warmly, “If I am wonderful then my only explanation is that the gods knew how incredible _you_ were and decided you deserved nothing but the most wonderful things. I intend to honor that always.”

“Robb…” Margaery breathed, sliding her hand down to rest against his chest, “What if we had our own bedding ceremony right here… right now? There is only a moon or two separating us from our wedding, and in my eyes you are already my husband. The gods gave us each other.”

Robb’s eyebrows raised and his eyes met Margaery’s, seemingly searching her gaze for confirmation of what he had heard. “I...I like that idea very, very much,” he admitted, “I don’t see why a moon or two should make any difference when we are to be husband and wife. What’s more important is that it be when we want it to be.”

Margaery nodded with a smile and lifted her head to press a kiss to his lips. There had been a time so very long ago when she had thought of a bedding as something she would just have to endure for the sake of having children, and she had certainly never imagined it would be something she would _want_.

Robb responded with enthusiasm as he kissed her in return, drawing her closer so that her body was flush against his. She could feel his desire now, and her heart skipped a beat in her chest. She’d had a few dreams mirroring this scenario in her previous life, but nothing could compare to the very real feeling of his bare skin against hers.

“I love you, Margaery,” he muttered against her mouth, his hands roaming over her back.

“I love you,” Margaery whispered back. His lips moved to her neck, and she heard herself let out a small moan.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Robb admitted in her ear, “I don’t...I don’t want to hurt you. Perhaps I could try...touching you first.” She felt his hand move down to her lower back and then over her hip, stopping at her thigh. Placing her own hand over his, she guided him between her legs, feeling her heartbeat pound in her ears the whole time.

“Oh, gods...” Margaery breathed, half in surprise and half in delight. His hand was warm and slightly calloused, and the sensation of him touching her so intimately was unlike anything she had ever experienced.

“Is that all right?” he asked, and even though she was having a difficult time thinking straight, she couldn’t help but admire his constant concern for her well-being.

“More than all right,” she murmured in reply, moving her hips along with his hand. What he was doing felt almost unbearably good; her whole body was hot and gooseflesh ran up and down her arms. She gave another moan, and she could feel herself start to get wet between her legs.

“Oh, _yes_ , Robb…” Margaery gasped as his finger brushed against a small knot that was particularly sensitive to his touch. Thinking clearly only became even more difficult when he returned to that spot, but she did feel his other hand move to her breast and something growing solid against her leg.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” she heard Robb say, “I can hardly wait to be inside you, sweetheart.”

Had her eyes been open, Margaery was certain she would have been able to see a blush cross her betrothed’s features, however his candidness only seemed to heighten the pleasure he was giving her. It felt as though it was building towards something, though she did not know what, and all she knew was that she didn’t want him to stop. One thought made it through the haze of her mind, however, and it was what caused her to rest a hand over his again to slow his movements this time - perhaps it was something they could experience together.

“Here, my love.” She gently guided his hand away and then sat up so that she could straddle his hips, butterflies dancing in her stomach. She leant in to kiss him then, and they stayed like that for some time, just enjoying the feeling of being so close to one another.

He kept muttering her name, and she swore that only increased her desire for him. She reached down and felt _him_ with her hands for the first time, and he gave a moan of his own. His moans only intensified as she stroked him slowly once, twice, feeling a small amount of something spill onto her fingers.

“Is _that_ all right?” she whispered, and she saw him smile and bite down his bottom lip slightly.

“Aye,” Robb replied, “Perfect, in fact.”

Their lips met again, and Margaery was surprised by the feeling of calm that washed over her just for a moment. It was very quickly replaced with excitement and anticipation but not nervousness, and she hoped that was evident to her beloved when she spoke against his lips. “I’m ready.”

Robb nodded with a small smile and she felt his hands settle gently on either side of her hips. His thumbs ran over her skin, comforting her and never trying to guide her, instead letting her lower herself onto him at her own pace. The sensation was strange at first, not painful but unusual, and at the same time the fulfilment of something she had desired for quite some time without really knowing it. She was pleased to hear Robb groan as he sunk all the way into her and she tilted her head back, letting out a gasp. If this was what the gods had always wanted, she thought, then they were certainly making sure she knew it now.

“ _Perfect_ ,” she repeated his word from moments ago, remaining still for a moment to get used to the feeling of him. When she opened her eyes to glance down at Robb she saw a relieved smile on his face, and she grinned at him in return. “I love you, Robb,” she told him yet again, leaning forwards so that they could share a kiss.

“I love you,” Robb murmured back, barely breaking from her, “Gods, you...you feel amazing.”

Margaery felt her face flush. She was certain she had never felt as desired in any of her lives as when her lips met Robb’s once more, and equally certain that she had never allowed herself to desire someone as much. Her hips moved slightly as her tongue slid over his, and she heard him moan against her mouth.

Margaery shifted again, letting him slip almost all the way out of her, then took him in once more. She had been taught before in rather blunt terms several times about how to please her future husband during intercourse, but none of that crossed her mind now. They found a rhythm together easily, and all she could think about was how much she loved they were doing this for themselves and nobody else.

“Seven hells…” Several more curses, some that Margaery wasn’t sure she had ever heard before, spilled from Robb’s lips and his moans grew louder as they moved faster. Her own volume matched his, each thrust sending a small ripple of pleasure through her, but there was something else she found herself craving. Thankfully Robb seemed to know her very thoughts, and she felt his hand slip between their bodies to where they were connected.

“Oh, my love...oh, gods…” Margaery gasped, feeling her breathing grow shallow. That same wonderful, indescribable feeling was building within her yet again, and this time she most definitely would not ask Robb to slow down. Her moans became closer to screams, and she found herself saying her betrothed’s name over and over. “Robb, Robb, Robb, Robb, Robb…”

It hit her all of a sudden, making her cry out as her entire body was overwhelmed with pleasure. She felt herself clench around Robb and immediately afterwards felt him release, spilling his seed deep within her. It was only then that it fully occurred to her that they could be making their first child together at that very moment, and that thought only made every sensation even sweeter. Her high gave way to a feeling of deep satisfaction, and she met her betrothed’s gaze once more.

“Margaery… you are the most wonderful…” Robb couldn’t seem to complete his thoughts, but she did not care; she knew just how he was feeling. She laughed breathlessly as she leaned forward to kiss him once more, losing herself in their embrace.

* * *

Less than two moons passed before they were married under the heart tree in Winterfell's godswood. Margaery was certain there had never been a happier celebration in all of the Seven Kingdoms. Everyone who attended the ceremony was overjoyed, but none moreso than the bride and groom that could not take their eyes off of one another.

Margaery had been sick in the morning, though she could not contribute her nausea to nerves. She had not gotten her moonblood since the first night she and her betrothed were intimate, and she hoped there would be an opportunity during the day to tell Robb that they had made a baby.

In all of her lives she had longed to be a mother, and this life was no exception. This time, however, she’d be able to raise her child alongside her husband whom she adored. She’d be able to set a loving example for them and care for them without fear and sadness. It was an overwhelming feeling to know she was carrying her and Robb’s child. She hoped no one noticed as her hands moved instinctively to rest on her stomach on occasion during the ceremony and the wedding feast.

“This food is delicious. Please pass on my compliments to all of you,” Robb remarked to the young man serving the high table before turning to smile at Margaery, “And you as well, sweetheart.” It had been at his suggestion that Margaery had gone down to the kitchens earlier in the day and given the recipes for some of her favorite Highgarden dishes to the cooks.

“I didn’t do very much. But you’re right, it is delicious,” Margaery agreed. Robb leant in to kiss her then, and she giggled softly against his lips. “I am a little concerned that you do not seem to be _eating_ much of the food, my love,” she teased him.

“I just… You are very distracting,” Robb admitted with a sheepish smile, “You’re radiant, Margaery. Forgive me for sounding so silly, but… it’s almost as if you are glowing. I suppose this is what it’s like to be married to someone I love more than life.”

Margaery’s eyes danced over her husband’s face. She found herself at a loss for words, so she settled for a kiss instead. “Robb…” she whispered against his lips, but before she had a chance to say anything further a deep booming voice spoke up.

“Those two look about ready for their bedding!” Greatjon Umber declared to the sound of many cheers from the other men around him.

“What’s it to you?” Robb questioned, glancing over his shoulder, “Our bedding is certainly not going to involve you, Lord Umber.”

“My lord?” Greatjon questioned, his eyebrows raised as he teetered back and forth, clearly drunk. Margaery held her breath.

“There will be no bedding ceremony tonight,” Robb announced, much to the dismay of the guests around him, though Margaery could see smiles on both Ned and Catelyn’s faces, “My wife and I do not require an audience to ensure the consummation of our marriage.”

Greatjon gave a hearty laugh at that, and Margaery was sure that if he was closer to Robb, he would have clapped him on the back.

Robb lowered his voice as he leant in towards his wife and spoke again. “I thought we might retire to our chambers soon,” he suggested, “Unless you wish to stay for longer, of course.”

“I would not object to that,” Margaery whispered back, her smile broadening, “Perhaps it is selfish of me, but I do think it would be rather wonderful to have my lord husband to myself for a while on our wedding day.”

Robb flushed pink and then took her by the hand, gently helping her to her feet. “After you, then, my beautiful lady wife,” he remarked, gesturing towards the door, “The celebrations may continue here, but I want to celebrate with you and you alone.”

Margaery giggled, nodding her head in agreement. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears as she thought about what she was going to say to Robb once they were alone. Her hand slipped into his, and they stood up together to make their way to the door.

As soon as they were out of sight of any prying eyes, Margaery felt Robb bring her in towards him. Though his touch was very gentle, the kiss he then gave her as they leant against the wall left her almost breathless.

“I ought to thank you every day for deciding to write to my father,” Robb murmured to her, “I can’t even imagine what my life would have been had you not become my wife.”

Margaery knew exactly what Robb’s life would have been like had she not interfered, but she did not want to dwell on such thoughts on a day that was meant to be happy. “You needn’t thank me. Every day I am with you is a blessing. I know that a love like ours is hard to come by,” she muttered, “I...I must tell you something, sweetheart.”

“What is it, my love?” Robb queried, his brow furrowing slightly as he ran his hand through her hair.

“I am carrying our child,” Margaery breathed, a smile forming at the corners of her lips.

“You’re....we made a child together?” Robb asked softly. Margaery nodded, and she thought she had never seen a grin quite so wide spread across her husband’s face. “We’re having a child!” he exclaimed as he wrapped her in a warm embrace, spinning her around and making her laugh.

“It’s so good to see you so happy, my love,” Margaery commented, “It is perhaps a little sooner than might be expected, but I’m sure nobody will mind given that an heir to Winterfell could be on the way.”

“ _I_ don’t mind, and the Others can take anyone who thinks otherwise,” Robb said, his eyes bright, “Margaery, we’re going to have a baby… I can scarcely believe it. I never knew… I mean, I knew I wanted to be a father someday, but I never imagined I’d be creating a life with the most beautiful, caring, clever woman on this earth. I hope our child is just like you.”

Margaery felt her eyes fill with tears. “Gods, you are too good to me,” she whispered, “I hope our child is a mix of both of us. I hope they have your heart and bravery and openness.”

“You’re the one who is far kinder to me than I could possibly deserve,” Robb whispered back, leaning in and letting his forehead rest against his wife’s. “I can’t wait to meet them, and I can’t wait to be a parent with you,” he admitted as one of his hands settled tenderly over her belly.

“Nor can I. We truly have so much to celebrate today,” Margaery remarked, “I’m very glad we decided to have our own bedding before tonight.”

“I am as well,” Robb said with a nod, “Come then, my sweet wife, let’s go to our chambers. We can snuggle up together or make love or do whatever you like.”

“Perhaps all of those things,” Margaery teased, feeling a rush of affection as Robb ran his thumb over her stomach. ‘ _He is already a loving father,’_ she thought to herself, ‘ _He is more than I ever could have asked for… Living and dying three times over was worth it for him.’_

* * *

Bells rung across Winterfell on the day that it was made public knowledge that a new Stark child was on its way. Margaery’s agreement with Robb had been they would wait until she had begun to show, a time which she found came rather sooner than expected when she realized she was starting to have trouble fitting into her dresses. The realization that she was developing a small but noticeable bump took her breath away, providing yet another reminder that the child she had wanted for so long was growing inside her. Robb’s enthusiasm was even more than she could have hoped for, and the two of them spent many a night lying together after they had loved each other talking eagerly about their baby. He would even talk to her belly sometimes, and she almost wished that her baby could see the delighted smile he always had on his face.

Robb had not been smiling, however, on that particular morning when he had left with his father, Bran, Jon and Theon to make a trip to a small holdfast in the hills. The Lord of Winterfell had received word of a man requiring the king’s justice who had been taken there and who Robb thought might be a wildling. Whoever he was, though, it seemed as though it was likely he would suffer the ultimate penalty, and Bran had been deemed old enough to accompany his father and brothers for the first time to see it done. Robb, on the other hand, mentioned to Margaery that he had witnessed his father execute men before, and that he hoped it would never cease to unsettle him.

She made sure to give him many kisses and assured him that she would be there for him when he got back. He returned in high spirits, however; she could see his grin from afar when he and the rest of his party returned. She knew exactly why his mood had changed when she saw what he was holding in his arms.

“Grey Wind…” she muttered under her breath, biting back her smile. She had seen the direwolf fully grown, but now he was just a small pup, his golden eyes looking around inquisitively.

“What did you say, my sweet?” Robb inquired, startling Margaery slightly.

She smiled, gently shaking her head. “Nothing, my love,” she replied, “He’s so precious. May I hold him?”

“Of course. I think even if I said no he would strongly object,” Robb teased, noting that the pup was already leaning towards Margaery. She took him in her arms and he nuzzled into her furs while she stroked his back and scratched him behind the ears. “Isn’t he amazing? We found five - actually, six - of them on our way back. Their mother was killed by a stag, it looks like.”

“Gods, how awful. Those poor pups,” Margaery commented, her brow furrowing slightly, “We’re going to keep them, aren’t we? We couldn’t possibly let such little defenseless things die.”

“They won’t stay defenseless,” Theon Greyjoy spoke up from nearby, “Those are direwolf pups. They grow to be even larger than regular wolves.”

“Then they will grow to defend us,” Robb said with a laugh, watching as Grey Wind nibbled at Margaery’s furs.

“Six of them. One for each of you,” Margaery noted quietly to her husband, “They must have been sent by the gods.” She kissed the top of the direwolf pup’s head and then handed him back to Robb.

“What a wonderful idea. Jon said we must have been meant to have them as well...the direwolf is the sigil of our house, after all,” Robb remarked, “I like the idea of our children growing up with this one around the castle. You’ll have to help me name him, sweetheart.”

Margaery smiled at that. “Of course I will. I’ll happily help you feed him and care for him as well. It’ll be good practice for when our little one comes, after all.”

Robb leaned in for a kiss and was met with the teasing protests of the other Stark children. “Honestly, I hoped you lot would be used to me kissing my wife by now,” he joked as he drew back.

“It’s still gross no matter how in love you are,” Arya said before running over to Jon to take one of the pups that he was holding.

Margaery laughed, though something in the back of her mind was beginning to nag her. ‘ _A direwolf killed by a stag,’_ she thought to herself, ‘ _King Robert must be coming soon to propose that Ned becomes his Hand. I don’t know how, but I have to stop him.’_

The first thought that came to her mind was that she should talk to Robb, but a feeling of doubt crept into her as she considered what might happen if she told him the entire truth of what she knew. Her heart told her that he would believe her, but what if he didn’t? Even she struggled to believe everything he had been through at times, and she had no idea how she was supposed to convince him otherwise if he did not take her at her word.

That very afternoon, when she and Robb were feeding Grey Wind from a towel soaked with warm milk, Lady Catelyn came to see them. Before her goodmother had even opened her mouth, Margaery knew exactly what she was going to say.

“Robb, Margaery,” she said, “I wanted to tell you that we’ve had a raven from King’s Landing…”

Margaery was silent as her goodmother spoke, her mind reeling with possible options. She could take the direct approach and go straight to Ned and tell him not to leave… but she’d have to think of some sort of excuse as to why she did not think he should go. She glanced over at her husband whose brow was furrowed in what she recognized as concern.

She would figure out a way to keep the Starks together, for him and for the rest of the family she had married into. Ned and Catelyn deserved to live out the rest of their days in peace. Sansa deserved to find love and be with someone who truly cherished her. Arya deserved to be a little girl and enjoy her youth without fear. Bran deserved to walk and run and play with Rickon - to live out his dream of becoming a knight. Little Rickon himself deserved to grow up knowing his family, and for that to happen all of them needed to be kept as far as possible from the Lannisters, who Margaery had seen ruin their lives and her own many times before.

Catelyn spoke of the preparations that would need to be made for the royal family’s arrival, and as future lady of the castle Margaery knew she would need to be of assistance. They had time, thankfully, as it would take a while for King Robert to reach Winterfell from King’s Landing, particularly with his whole family in tow. Margaery just hoped it would be enough time for her to come up with a plan.  

That night as they laid together in bed, Margaery felt Robb shift beside her restlessly.

“What’s on your mind?” she whispered into the darkness.

She heard him give a small sigh before answering her. “Nothing… Everything,” he amended, blindly reaching for her hand and finding it beneath the furs, “The king doesn’t make a trip to the North without reason.”

“It does seem like far too long a journey to make for something trivial,” Margaery agreed, “I...your mother spoke briefly of Lord Jon Arryn’s death. Was your family close to him?”

“Aye. Well, he was my uncle by marriage, but I never really knew him very well. My father was close to him. He was fostered at the Eyrie with King Robert and Mother says Lord Arryn was like a second father to him...and to King Robert as well, I suppose,” Robb mused, “I would imagine that’s the reason he made him his Hand.”

Margaery remembered the rumors that had circulated King’s Landing while she was there - that Cersei was the one who poisoned Jon because he knew her secrets. But even if the queen had not been the perpetrator, Margaery knew that it would be wise for the Starks to stay away from the situation in the capital altogether.

Her head spun as she thought about her next move. At the very least, she could stop Bran from climbing while the royal family were visiting. That would prevent Catelyn from accusing Tyrion of sending an assassin to murder the young boy. Bran was quite fond of her and would listen to her if she made her point clear.

“Margaery?” Robb asked softly, giving her hand a squeeze, “Are you all right?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” she lied, “I just… I think King Robert means to make your father his next Hand.”

Robb fell silent for a moment. “Gods, that could be it,” he agreed, “He and the king are very close...but Father would not accept, I don’t think. He often speaks of how he feels sorry for any soul stuck in King’s Landing.”

“He may feel as though he does not have much of a choice,” Margaery noted, “Refusing a friend is one thing, but refusing a king...”

“Well, I suppose if he were to go then we would all go with him,” Robb mused, “I don’t know how I’d feel about that...but perhaps King’s Landing wouldn’t be so bad.”

 _‘My dearest love… always the optimist,’_ Margaery thought, shuffling closer to her husband to rest her head against his chest. “King’s Landing is a snake pit,” she murmured, taking in a deep breath, “I don’t want any of us to go there.”

In the pale moonlight, she could see Robb’s mouth twist slightly. “It’s no Winterfell, but if you were there with me-”

“Robb, listen to me,” Margaery interjected, sitting up to meet his gaze, “We can’t let your father accept Robert’s offer. I… I have a terrible feeling that bad things will happen if he does.”

A crease appeared in Robb’s brow, and for a moment Margaery found his expression hard to read. He had no reason to believe her, she supposed, but that did not stop her from hoping that he still might. She realized she was holding her breath as he reached forwards and ran a hand through her hair.

“Very well, sweetheart,” he said ultimately, “I would not dare doubt someone as wise as you. But if you are right and the king does make my father the offer...how would we convince him to say no?”

“I’m not sure, my love,” Margaery admitted, blinking back the tears that had formed in her eyes.

Robb sat up then as well, taking her face in his hands. “Sweetheart, what is troubling you?” he asked, “I have never known you to get upset in this way.”

“I’m afraid you might think me mad if I tell you,” she whispered.

“Never, Margaery,” Robb breathed, shaking his head, “I know that if there is one thing I can depend on in this world, it is you. You could tell me the sun rises in the west and sets in the east and I would not doubt you.”

The tears that Margaery had tried desperately to blink back began to trickle down her cheeks as she found herself overwhelmed with emotion. Of course Robb would believe her. If anyone in this world would then he would, and yet she found herself not quite knowing where to begin. She had experienced so much, and up until now she had never even contemplated telling a soul.

“The old gods have powers beyond my understanding,” she started slowly, “I have lived three times and died three times before this life. Each time was different depending on the decisions I made. In my first I was killed by Queen Cersei, in my second I was struck down by an arrow, in my third I drank poison to escape the pain… But the one thing that never changed was my connection to you.

“I always had what I thought were dreams of you until I realized they were visions. You were murdered… over and over again I had to watch you die. I could not bear it, and I tried to change things, but even when I intervened, I could not alter our fates…

“That’s why I wrote to you in this life. I would not let you die again. I loved you before, and I love you now - more than I could ever hope to express in mere words. The gods saw fit to send me visions of you… they saw fit to let me live again and again until I made things right. This is where I’m meant to be - by your side - they have assured me of that. But even if I had not lived before, there is no place I would rather be. You are my heart and soul, Robb.”

“Margaery…” Robb had listened intently, never once interrupting her and never letting his eyes leave her face. She had no way of knowing what it must be like to receive such information from a loved one out of the blue, but he remained surprisingly calm. Margaery was glad of it, because between the relief of finally telling someone and the heightened emotions from her pregnancy she felt close to falling apart.

“And there I was thinking you were extraordinary before,” Robb commented softly, “I had no idea quite how much.”

Margaery wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck and pulled him into the tightest embrace that she could muster. “My love, you have done so much for me,” she heard Robb whisper in her ear, “I do not know what I could possibly have done to deserve you, but know that you are everything to me. I have always...deep down inside, I have always had a feeling that we had met before and that I had loved you before as I do now.”

Margaery drew back only slightly to shower Robb’s cheek with kisses. She was at a loss for words, though she was certain nothing she could say would adequately describe how much his acceptance and understanding meant to her.

“I only have one request, my love,” Robb murmured, nuzzling against her neck.

“Anything,” she replied almost immediately.

“Tell me everything.”

“Everything?” Margaery echoed. She thought of her first life, where they had never so much as had the opportunity to meet. She thought of her second, where she had wed another man and been too late to save him from his fate. Her heart ached as she thought of her third, where she and Robb had fallen in love but had been unable to be together. “Robb, I don’t....I would loathe to be responsible for making you feel any kind of sadness.”

“You mean the sadness that you’ve taken on by yourself for the longest time?” Robb countered, “We are husband and wife now, one flesh and one heart and one soul. Let me share your burden with you.”

Margaery let out an audible sob, though she could not help but smile through her tears. “No one has ever done that for me before.”

“Then let me be the first,” Robb offered, pulling back to wipe away her tears, “I can only take joy in the fact that we are here together now… that we have made a baby together and are on the way to starting our family. Even if our previous lives were filled with sadness, there has been so much happiness in this one already.”

“Aye,” Margaery could not help but agree, momentarily casting her eyes downwards to her growing belly. She then leant in towards her husband again, letting their lips meet in a passionate kiss. As they lingered in it she leant back, bringing him to lie down beside her once more.

They broke apart slowly, and Margaery settled in the crook of Robb’s arm, resting her head against him and swinging her leg over his. He had asked to know everything, and so she took a deep breath and started her story from the very beginning.

* * *

Margaery felt her relationship with Robb grew even stronger after she told him everything she had kept hidden for so long. It felt good to unburden herself and to know that she had her husband’s support in every aspect of her life. She was more in love than she’d ever been before, and even the impending visit of the woman who’d had her killed in her first life couldn’t crush her spirits.

The day they felt their baby move was more emotional than she ever could have imagined. She adored Robb’s laughs of delight whenever he placed his hands on her stomach and was met with a tiny kick. The royal family was to arrive within that same week, and she considered it a good omen - a promise of life to come.

The royal family turned up with all the pomp and grandeur that was to be expected of them and no less than three hundred members to their party. Each and every member of House Stark was there to greet theml including Robb and herself, who had bowed and curtsied suitably when King Robert had broken away from the bone-crunching hug he had given Eddard to greet them. Unsurprisingly, his newfound knowledge did make Robb rather less amenable to Queen Cersei and Prince Joffrey, but he maintained an air of detached politeness. Margaery, for her part, found the whole affair incredibly strange - it was strange to see how young Joffrey looked, to think of the rotten interior she knew was beneath Cersei’s outward beauty, and to meet King Robert in person for the first time in any of her lives. Just as strange was seeing Robert’s youngest brother, the man she had twice married and never loved, who was also accompanying the party. She suspected his presence might have something to do with her brother Loras, whom she had been delighted to wrap in a hug upon seeing him with a group of other knights.

Her brother’s presence put her in good spirits as she assisted Catelyn in the preparations for the welcoming feast. Though she was not particularly fond of the Baratheon and Lannister banners she had felt obliged to have put up in the Great Hall amongst the Stark ones, she was proud of her work. She hoped that at the very least it would show the Lannisters that in the North they were just as capable of putting on a banquet to be remembered.

Even if his wife was not enjoying the festivities, it seemed King Robert was already a fan of Winterfell, though Margaery wasn’t certain he’d remember anything the next day after all the wine he’d drunk. The meal was well received as was the music that struck up once most everyone finished eating. Even the youngest Starks were on their best behavior after Margaery had spoken with them about making a good impression; she caught Arya once or twice with a spoonful loaded with potatoes that looked perfect for flinging, but apart from the young girl’s antics, everything was going well.

She did notice that Cersei shot her a few less-than-pleasant looks whenever she exchanged an affectionate kiss or laugh with Robb. _‘Let her be jealous,’_ Margaery thought, ‘ _I pity a woman whose husband is unfaithful, but she did not grant me any mercy in my past life, nor did she treat Sansa with any kindness. She doesn’t deserve my sympathy.’_

It was when Arya took aim at and managed to hit a horrified Sansa squarely in the cheek with her food that Margaery saw Catelyn exchange a look with Robb, who she could tell was biting back a smile. Despite his own amusement, though, he seemed aware of his need to fulfil his duties as the eldest child, and so he shook his head then slowly stood to his feet.

“Time for Arya to go to bed, I think,” he commented quietly, leaning in close to his wife, “I’ll be back in a minute.” Margaery nodded and pressed a quick kiss to her husband’s lips.

“I was rather surprised to hear that the Tyrells had wed their only daughter to a Stark,” Cersei’s voice spoke up suddenly. It took Margaery a moment or two to realize it was in fact her that the queen was addressing, but thankfully Cersei did not seem to notice or care. “I had always thought your family seemed far more...ambitious,” she continued.

“I’ve come to find that love outweighs ambition,” Margaery responded, quickly adding, “Your Grace.” She ran a protective hand over her belly; Cersei hadn’t allowed her to live long enough in her first life to bear children.

The queen gave a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, to be young and naive again,” she remarked, swirling her wine around in her glass, “I remember when I used to believe in fairytales.”

Margaery found it difficult to believe that Cersei _ever_ believed in fairytales, but she kept that thought to herself. “What my lord husband and I have is far greater than any fairytale,” she said with a smile.

Cersei’s expression suggested impatience. “I most definitely had the wrong idea about the Tyrells,” the queen muttered, though loudly enough for Margaery to hear. She raised her voice when she addressed her again. “How old are you, exactly?” she questioned, “Stand up, let me get a good look at you.”

Though she was reluctant to anything Cerei asked of her, Margaery knew that she could not disobey her queen, so she pushed back her chair and slowly stood to her feet. “I am ten-and-five, Your Grace,” she answered politely, her hands resting on her stomach once more.

"And you're with child already..." Cersei noted, quirking a brow, "Good heavens, you're younger than I was when I had my first."

“Lord Robb and I are both young, it is true, but we were lucky enough to find each other so early in life. I would not wish to spend another day without him.” Her tone was warm despite the present company; she could not help but be happy when she spoke of Robb. “And we are very much looking forward to the arrival of our first child… How do you find motherhood, Your Grace?”

Margaery knew that Cersei cared for her children more than anyone else in her life. It was the one redeeming quality the queen held.

“I love my children,” she replied, though there was barely a hint of a smile on her face, “They are truly blessings.”

“That they are. It is wonderful to see how many children have been born since the end of the war,” Margaery commented, “I very much like the notion of your children and my future children growing up only knowing peace.”

Margaery heard footsteps making their way over towards her then and heard the sound of a familiar voice. She felt an arm slide around her waist, and looked up to see her husband who then pressed a loving kiss to her temple before giving her an encouraging smile. She smiled back, thankful for his presence.

“Your Grace,” Robb said, his tone polite but not without a slight edge. He sounded far more jovial, however, when he spoke again. “I see you’ve had the opportunity to get to know my wonderful wife a bit better.”

The smile Cersei produced this time was fleeting and forced. “Indeed,” she said, “It is... _charming_ to see that you are still at the stage of bestowing flattery upon each other.”

“I do not believe it to be mere flattery,” Robb remarked, his brow furrowing slightly, “Margaery has an incredibly sharp mind and is a talented negotiator in addition to being both eloquent and kind. ‘Wonderful’ seems only fitting.”

Cersei blanched and Margaery blushed. What she and Robb had was the one thing the queen would never obtain, Margaery knew. She would never know what it meant to have a true partner in life, someone who saw her worth and would be by her side through everything. The thought made Margaery feel far more powerful than the woman seated before her. She stood up straighter and trailed her hand along Robb's back.

When Cersei said nothing more, Robb turned inwards to face his wife. "Come dance with me, my love," he requested.

Margaery was certain some of the visitors from the capital would find a pregnant woman dancing to be undignified, but she did not care. The people of the North loved their lord and lady and how affectionate they were with one another. "Of course, sweetheart," she answered, taking his hands in hers. "If you'll pardon me, your grace." She gave a small curtsy then smiled as Robb led her out onto the dancefloor.

"Was the queen giving you trouble?" her husband asked her in a hushed tone once they’d taken their positions. He gave her the gentlest of spins and then drew her close.

"Nothing I could not handle, my sweet,” she whispered teasingly before pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Though I’m glad you showed up when you did. She’s not the easiest person to talk to.”

“I don’t know where you got that impression,” Robb jested, giving a small chuckle, “She seems perfectly friendly to me.”

Margaery could not help but laugh, shaking her head in amusement. Robb never failed to make her smile under any circumstance.

“Ah, there it is,” Robb remarked fondly, lowering his voice again as he added, “If only she and her family would leave so that I could hear you laugh even more often. I am sorry you have to face her again after...after everything.”

“I have nothing to fear with you by my side,” Margaery whispered back. The music picked up its pace and she did too, although she lamented that it meant moving further away from her husband. Her mind was at work while her body danced, thinking of everything she and Robb had discussed before the arrival of the royal family and of how they would ensure that Lord Eddard never set foot in King’s Landing.

“I’m surprised you can still walk with that belly, Lady Margaery,” Renly piped up. He was dancing to Robb’s left, making more than one lady practically swoon whenever he came close to them. “Will you be joining us for the hunt as well?” he teased.

“If I was not with child, I just might,” Margaery countered, raising her eyebrows.

“You shouldn’t underestimate my lady wife, my lord,” Robb remarked with a grin, “She’s amazing with a hawk.”

“Ser Loras has told me just as much,” Renly admitted, seemingly oblivious of the woman who’d circled around to take her place as his next dancing partner, “You’re a lucky man, Lord Robb. You must be half my age and already you have a lovely wife and a child on the way. I wonder what I’m doing wrong.”

Margaery had to bite her tongue at Renly’s statement, though she gave Robb a knowing look.

“I am a very lucky man,” Robb agreed, taking hold of Margaery’s hand, “And we must make sure to bring back something good to feed my lovely wife and child. I wonder if Grey Wind could come along to help.”

At the sound of his name, the young direwolf lifted his head from where he was resting under one of the nearby tables. Renly looked uneasy, and Margaery couldn’t help but smile as she thought of how he had acted around Grey Wind when he had been almost fully grown.

“Perhaps not the best idea,” Renly offered, “He should stay to...watch over your lady wife and the children.”

Robb opened his mouth and Margaery’s assumption was that he was about to brush off the comment, but instead he then closed it again and his brow creased. Something about Renly’s words appeared to have given him food for thought as he leant in close to her.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, “How much do you know about Bran’s fall that you told me about?”

“Only what my dreams have shown me… and what you told me in my last life,” Margaery admitted just as quietly, pressing her cheek to Robb’s, “Your mother thought he must’ve seen something he ought not to. She found a long, blonde hair in the tower from which he fell… It had to be the queen and her brother. But I don’t know which tower, and I don’t know what day it happened… I’m sorry, I wish I could be more helpful, my love.”

“Don’t apologize,” Robb bid her gently, “That’s a great deal of help. I was just thinking...with everyone gone hunting, wouldn’t it be a perfect opportunity for the queen and her brother to be together?”

“It would most likely be their only chance to be alone,” Margaery agreed, her eyes widening slightly, “And Bran would still be here…”

“I have an idea of where they might go, too. The First Keep has been abandoned for as long as I can remember.”

“I love you, Robb. You’re brilliant,” Margaery muttered, biting back her smile. She couldn’t help but laugh, however, as he spun her around and pressed a passionate kiss to her lips, ignoring everyone else around them.

“ _We_ are brilliant,” he amended quietly, “I couldn’t do any of this without you. We will figure out just what to do together.”

“Aye, we will.” Margaery nuzzled against her husband’s neck and closed her eyes. She was anxious about the events to come, but he made her feel safe and sure. “Let’s talk tonight in our chambers,” she suggested, “But I think I may know of someone who could be of assistance.”

* * *

It was only a couple of days later that the hunt was to take place, but in that short space of time a great deal had changed. Just as Margaery had predicted, King Robert had asked Lord Stark to be his new Hand, and Ned had seemingly been unable to refuse. Robb and Margaery had been told that they were to prepare to take over running the castle, and that Lady Catelyn would be there help them do so. Rickon was also to stay, but Sansa, Arya and Bran were all to journey to King’s Landing with their father. Margaery and her husband had accepted their new duties without question and gone along with the preparations required, all the while knowing that if their plan succeeded, none of King Robert and Ned’s plans would likely come to fruition.

When the morning of the hunt finally came, Margaery could sense Robb’s nerves as he bid her goodbye, though she thought he hid them quite well. His embrace was just a little tighter the usual, his kiss just slightly more urgent, and he ran his hand affectionately over her pregnant belly one too many times.

“You’ll be safe, won’t you?” he urged her in a whisper, pressing another kiss close to her ear.

“Both of us will,” Margaery answered with a small smile, resting her hands over her husband’s.

“I wish that I didn’t have to leave you here with... _them_ ,” Robb admitted, “But you’re right, it’ll be suspicious if I stay behind.”

Margaery nodded. “You must promise me that _you’ll_ be safe, my love,” she told him, “Please don’t put yourself at risk, no matter what happens. If this doesn’t work then we’ll find another way.”

“I promise.” Robb kissed her lips again, and this time she heard Theon’s voice immediately afterwards, calling on him to join the party. Her husband pulled a face and furrowed his brow, but relented nonetheless. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you,” Margaery said in return before bidding him an equally reluctant goodbye. They parted with assurances that they would see each other again soon, and Margaery then watched as Robb mounted his horse and took his place alongside the other men. Among the riders there were several familiar faces, including her brother who was riding by Lord Renly’s side. When Margaery caught sight of them she lifted her head to meet Renly’s gaze and gave him the smallest of nods, which he reciprocated.

The hunt departed at dawn, and so as the sun rose over Winterfell Margaery was left behind with the other women and Bran and Jon and nothing to do but wait. She liked to think her patience had grown over the course of her lives, but she found that the circumstances made her particularly restless and she could scarcely sit still in her chambers. After deciding to take a walk around the castle, she wondered if she might be able to see the broken tower from any of the windows, but then thought better of drawing any attention towards the location. That was where she and her husband had deduced that the queen and her brother would be disappearing to, and that was where Robb would lead the hunting party once Renly had given them an excuse to return early.

Recruiting Renly to help hadn’t been particularly difficult. Margaery knew he had never been fond of the Lannisters, and all it really took to convince him was a word with Loras. She was thankful that part of the plan had been straightforward, at least, but every other part was filled with uncertainty. What would happen if King Robert refused to listen to his brother? What would happen if they arrived at the broken tower too early or too late? What would happen if Cersei and Jaime Lannister were in a different tower altogether? Margaery had the answer to none of those questions, and all she could do was hope and pray.

Ultimately, she wrapped up warm and decided to make her way to the godswood; the only place where she even came even close to feeling as safe and secure as she did in Robb’s arms. Margaery knelt by the heart tree and did not ask the gods for her plan to be successful, but rather to watch over her husband and ensure his safe return to her. She felt her child give a kick, and she prayed for his or her health and a chance to grow up surrounded by loving family. She also gave thanks for the opportunities she had been granted in this life, and promised to do her best to honor them with the decisions she made. She listened to the god’s voices in the wind, and she listened until they were replaced by raised voices that she knew, coming from the direction of the broken tower.

* * *

The raised voices continued well into the night. Once they had been happily reunited, Robb had insisted that Margaery retire to their chambers to get some rest, but despite her tiredness she found herself unable to sleep. All that she could think about was the muffled arguments that she could hear going on outside her door, where the king and Lord Eddard were trying to decide on the fate of the brother and sister who had been caught in treasonous throes of passion. Robb had been let in on the discussions as well, Margaery had learnt, mostly due to the fact that his idea to surround the tower on approach was what had prevented Jaime Lannister from escaping or harming anyone.

While Margaery was immensely proud of her husband for his quick thinking, what she felt above all when she heard the door swing open and saw him step into the room was a desire to comfort him. He looked exhausted, and she immediately patted the bed to suggest he come lay down beside her. “Get some rest, my love,” she bid him.

“I wish I could. Father and King Robert are still going at it,” Robb explained. He made his way over to where she was nestled under the furs, but rather than join her he sat himself down beside her. “The king still wants to execute them both,” he added, “Father is not so keen. He fears for their children, and frankly so do I. Not Joffrey so much, if I’m being honest, but...Myrcella and Tommen are both so young.”

“Your father is a good man,” Margaery noted, sitting up to wrap her husband in an embrace, “As are you. What do you think ought to be done, sweetheart?”

She saw a small smile appear on Robb’s tired face at her touch, and she smiled in return before pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Actually, that is what I came here to ask you,” Robb then answered her.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, one could say that taking all of your lives into account there is nobody Cersei Lannister has wronged more than you. I was in there trying to think of what to suggest and I thought...truly nobody is better equipped to decide Cersei’s fate.”

Robb’s words stunned Margaery into a momentary silence. She had indeed contemplated what kind of punishment Cersei might receive, but it had never occurred to her that anyone might ask for _her_ opinion on the matter. Robb, however, only continued to surprise her with how much he respected her and her advice. She loved him for that, and she loved him for the fact that she knew he would be accepting of the answer she knew was the only one she could give.

“Exile,” Margaery said, “Perhaps she deserves death and perhaps she doesn’t, but I don’t believe it is for us to decide. Besides, as you said, there are her children to think of. All else aside, I know she does love them...and I would not want them to grow up without a mother.”

“Aye,” Robb said, giving a nod, “I agree. Where to send them, though? Father has floated the idea, but his suggestion was to have them sent back to Casterly Rock…”

“That might pose some problems. I don’t think it would be wise to have Cersei close to her father,” Margaery noted, “She ought to be sent somewhere she can have no influence. Somewhere isolated, somewhere like...the Shield Islands, perhaps. All of their houses are sworn in allegiance to my father.”

“And your father will be happy to be of assistance, I’m certain,” Robb amended, “Perhaps he can find a relative of yours whose hand in marriage can be offered to the king. He’ll likely wish to produce trueborn heirs as soon as possible to avoid a succession crisis.”

“There may be one anyway,” Margaery said with a slight frown, “Even if a trueborn heir is made soon, he will need to be protected until he is old enough to protect himself. That is why I believe isolating Cersei and her family would be the best way forward.”

“Do you know what I believe? _You_ ought to be the queen. You are by far the cleverest of all of us,” Robb remarked. Margaery saw his face relax into a small smile and her own did as well as a blush crept up her cheeks. “I am very glad you chose to marry me instead, however,” he admitted.

“My love, I would much sooner be a peasant wed to you than a queen wed to anyone else,” Margaery affirmed. She leant in towards him, and their lips met in a loving kiss.

“Mmm...I will go speak to my father and the king and tell them of your suggestion,” Robb murmured, barely pulling away, “Then when I return, I promise we can continue this or get some rest. Or both.”

“Both sounds good. I hope they listen,” Margaery admitted, feeling Robb’s arms give her a gentle squeeze. _‘I hope they make the right decision_ ,’ she thought, ‘ _I hope I’ve made the right decisions._ ’

* * *

That night, Margaery dreamed a different dream. Her visions of the murderous wedding Robb had attended in two lifetimes had passed so long ago that she’d almost forgotten what it was like to see what the years to come had to hold. However, she knew that all she was seeing was not conjured by her own mind alone. The gods had infiltrated her head again, only this time they shared a story of life with her as she slept with her arms wrapped around her husband.

She dreamt of falling snow, of flowers sprouting despite the cold and rough terrain. She dreamt of Robb’s strong brow that softened as she kissed his cheek. She dreamt of laughter in the godswood, her own voice ringing out amidst the giggles of children. She saw a baby in their future - no - more than one. She almost could not count the heads of the red and brown-haired children as they ran about in the snow, their shrieks of delight carried through the air.

Then the vision changed. Time passed and then time stood still. She sat by the fire in her chambers, her old, wrinkled hands wrapped around a book. Robb came to stand beside her, reaching to run his fingers through her silver hair. He was different, but she knew it was her Robb - still as handsome and kind as ever. She stood to her feet and slipped her arms around his waist and held him tight, feeling his heartbeat against her cheek.

He had lived to see the winter come and go. He had faced some hardships and had been tested several times, but he was safe. He was happy. He was loved.

And so was she.


End file.
